


Making a Kinder World

by Last_Haven



Series: Another World [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alphyne all over, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Angst and Humor, Background Soriel - Freeform, Body Horror, Drama, Frisk/Fell!Sans in foreground, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Papyton, Mentions of Suicide, Mostly Gen, Multi, Non-Chronological, Nonbinary Chara and Frisk, Suicidal Thoughts, UT!Frisk in Underfell, lowkey romance, psychological scarring for everyone, sexual harassment of a minor, short stories set in the same universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2018-10-24 12:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 258,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Haven/pseuds/Last_Haven
Summary: Side stories set in the same world as The World, Upside Down, highly recommend reading that before this. Tales of Frisk's life before and after coming to this new world, of the lives of monsters before Frisk arrived, and some from the lives of others in another world as well. UPDATES FREQUENTLY





	1. A  Heavy Discussion

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are just starting to pick up this series, I feel I should mention that while Making a Kinder World is told nonchronologically, you can read it that way if you wish. I've created a timeline/index with links to here and on ff.net:
> 
> http://last-haven.tumblr.com/post/168936643884/another-world-timelineindex
> 
> It has every chapter put in at it's correct starting point and includes links to The World, Upside Down and A Kinder World, After Dark, as well as notes explaining if certain chapters cover long stretches of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've literally had this side story written for over two months. Enjoy.

       With a sigh, Frisk dropped onto the wicker bench they’d shoved out onto the balcony when the five of them—Frisk, Sans, Papyrus, Chara, and Asriel—first moved into the house. Who had gotten it? They didn’t remember, but no one else had wanted it and it had at least been something to sit on. They tossed a rickety side table next to it, which quickly collected cups, ashtrays, magazines, and the occasional beer bottle. It wasn’t pretty, but it made for a cozy enough place to sit and watch the sun disappear over the horizon each night. It was too early that evening for the sunset just yet, but the wind was calm and refreshing, just what Frisk needed after a long day of stuffy meetings. Sans had fallen asleep three times in one meeting alone before lunch. They couldn’t blame him—at least he had the excuse that he didn’t _need_ to actually pay attention. No, that was _their_ job.

       They fished around in their pocket, grimacing at how small it was—why was their tailor obsessed with giving them tiny pockets? Hadn’t they asked for bigger pockets last time? Maybe they should write themselves a memo when it came time to get their next suit. After a bit of wrestling, they pried their cigarette pack out. Sighing in relief, they dug out a stick and lit it before tossing the lighter and pack onto the table, dragging an ashtray closer.

       For a while, they closed their eyes and tilted their head back, yanking their ponytail down to let the wind play with their hair and enjoying the nicotine fix. However, after a few minutes, there was a quiet knock at the glass of the open sliding door. When Frisk looked up, they smiled at the familiar monster form in the doorway that led to their bedroom. “Hey, As-” They paused and looked closer at the boss monster’s face. “Sorry. Hey, Chara. Do you need something? I thought it was your turn tomorrow.”

       Asriel and Chara liked to take turns over who had control while at school; usually one would be in charge for a full day, unless a test or assignment came up that was easier for one or the other. Frisk probably should have scolded them for it—it did essentially mean that one half would never be up to par on some subjects while the other might find it too easy—but it wasn’t like Chara and Asriel could ever un-merge unless they wanted to die. They would always have each other then, so why not let one specialize in certain areas?

       Chara shook their head, the long fluffy ears swinging in their face—they still had trouble at times controlling Asriel’s body. That, Frisk assumed, was perhaps the most frequent trouble the two children had when it came to their new life. At least they managed well. They stepped out onto the balcony, red eyes serious. “We need to talk to you about something.”

       Frisk raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the cigarette. There was still more than a quarter left to it, they noted sadly before reach out to carefully snuff it out. Asriel didn’t mind cigarette smoke, but Chara detested it. Once it was out, they waved the child over. “Come here and tell me about it.”

       Without another word, Chara padded forward on silent feet and hopped into the far end of the bench, tucking themselves into the corner before pulling their legs up before them. The defensive posture made Frisk wary, but they kept silent and patient. After a moment to get themselves comfortable, Chara spoke. “Asriel and I have been talking about what to do with mom and dad.”

       _Ah. That explains it._ In the many months since the barrier broke, Asriel had been very adamant about living with Frisk. Chara had agreed with apparently no fuss, but Frisk hadn’t wanted to press the issue with either child. It wasn’t for lack of Asgore or Toriel trying to reach out to their children—Frisk had to sit them down after two months and gently remind them that it was the children’s decision not to live with their parents. The agreement had been that Chara and Asriel could live with Frisk, but Frisk had to keep them abreast of the children’s doings, of their grades, and their health. Frisk had found this fair, even if Asriel hesitated—they’d had to talk him around to it, although it wasn’t until Chara backed the decision that Asriel relented. Still, Asgore and Toriel sometimes overstepped their bounds, trying to reconnect to their children—sometimes Toriel would send along knitted things or pies or books, sometimes Asgore would send them seeds and potted plants, special herbal teas. Asriel was never very pleased with any of these gifts and was more than happy to ignore them or let someone else have them; Chara never ventured an opinion on any of it, but Frisk had seen them use the mittens or water the plants more than once.

       It was a complicated relationship, one that left Frisk at a loss at times to navigate, but they’d been under the impression that it seemed to be working for the children. “Did something happen?”

       Chara shook their head to Frisk’s relief. “No. But we have been talking about it. We want your opinion.”

       Frisk nodded, tracing the seam of one of their gloved fingers. “Okay. What is it you want my opinion on exactly?”

       Chara took a deep breath. “Should we forgive mom and dad for what happened after we died?”

       _Jesus Christ, open up with the tough questions first, I see._ “Specifically?”

       “Dad’s edict. Mom leaving. Both of them trying to kill Flowey.”

       _So, **all** of it essentially. Lord almighty, I wish I had a beer. Just one though. I wouldn’t wish this conversation on drunk me._ “Well,” they began, trying to think fast. “About your mother leaving, their separation—that was their decisions. It came from their own mistakes and it’s something they need to work out between themselves first. I know it affects you, but right now, they’ll have to work on that on their own. You don’t have the right to condemn or forgive them, I’m afraid.”

       Chara nodded, mouth grim. For a moment, their eyes turned soft and brown and Frisk could see Asriel speaking on his own. “Do… do you think that they’ll get back together?”

       _Huh, that question again. I swear, sometimes I hear echoes in this world of my old one. My original’s world. Ugh, semantics._ “I think that’s up to them,” they answered noncommittally before looking at him for a long moment. “If they do or they do not though, I want you to know that you’ll always have a place here, okay?”

       He nodded, trying to smile for them.

       “But, between the three of us?” they began, leaning forward. “Well, let’s say I wouldn’t surprise if they _did._ ” They leaned back into their corner of the bench. “In this world, they seem to see more eye to eye. In that other world, you know, mom—Toriel, she, uh, she was very bitter about the whole killing children then. A little high and mighty about it, really, all things considered.”

       Asriel—or perhaps Chara—frowned in confusion, but that was one conversation Frisk wasn’t ready for just yet.

       “At any rate, there was, uh, more _incentive_ for them to remain separated there. Less so here. So, like I said, if it did happen, I wouldn’t be shocked. But, I wouldn’t be shocked the other way either.”

       He nodded, face unreadable. Frisk reached out to ruffle his fur, which got a small smile out of him. However, the smile faded and it was Chara looking back out from their eyes.

       Frisk leaned back again. “About the edict though. Well, that’s a tough one. Back there, in that other world, he’d said the same thing about human souls. The other part—the kill or be killed thing… that’s this world’s thing, I’m afraid. Now, _I did_ forgive Asgore back then, but that Asgore also caused less widespread damage to monsters. I won’t lie, it was a dick move. But, I know why he did it—I mean, I can see why he thought so in that moment of weakness. And… and I know he regrets it now.”

       “Do you?” Chara asked, eyes narrowed.

       _God, it’s not normal to see so much suspicion in a child’s eyes. But, I suppose that’s how it is. Poor Chara, poor Asriel._ “Yes,” they answered firmly after a moment, locking gazes with theirs. “Through his actions and his words, I believe he truly does. You two… well, I’m afraid you just weren’t there when those moments happened.”

       They tried to be delicate, but Chara’s face showed a flicker of something—something that might have been regret, but Frisk wasn’t sure. Chara did have one hell of a poker face. “I see.”

       “However, I’ll leave it for you to decide on that as well. Asriel, after all, had to live with those edicts far longer than I or Chara did.”

       They nodded, thoughtful before looking up at them again. “And what they both did to Flowey?”

       Frisk sighed, glancing past them to see the sun finally sinking towards the western edge of the sky. Houses and buildings cut into the countryside, marring the perfect vista, but at the same time, it filled Frisk with a sense of calm. Calm that they needed now. “Let’s be perfectly frank. Attacking Flowey, killing him—even in this world, they both knew it was wrong. Plenty of monsters were eager to avoid ‘kill or be killed’—and he should have been beneath their notice. But, they both attacked him, numerous times.” Their gaze fell back onto the boss monster’s face. “I assume that they… probably caused some resets.”

       Chara closed their eyes and nodded solemnly.

       Frisk’s fingers twitched, but they forced themselves to sit still—Chara did not liked to be touched. If they wanted comfort, they would come to Frisk on their own terms. Taking a deep breath, Frisk continued. “Right. I know you could argue that they had no idea that Flowey was Asriel, or that even if they did that they wouldn’t believe. But, I’m also sure that’s probably not a big comfort.”

       “No. It is not.”

       For lack of a better response, they nodded and idly grabbed their lighter from the table to trace the smooth, rounded edges of its sides. Flicking the top open and shut a few times, they finally came up with a reply. “To be honest, I’m probably not the best person to ask this—I, um. I kinda have a long, storied history of having people out to kill me who I then befriended.”

       One of the two children snorted—it wasn’t a very Chara-like sound, but when they opened their eyes it still seemed like it was the human. “You _are_ weird.”

       Frisk grinned. “Well, I never claimed otherwise. Look, what I did—turning the other cheek, or whatever you want to call it—that worked for me. It may not work for you.”

       “But it is something you did,” they said simply, glancing away. “You came out of it okay. It is something to consider.”

       Frisk paused for a long moment, watching the pensive child before they sighed, dropped the lighter back onto the table, and leaned forward. It caught Chara’s attention and they looked back up without their prompting. “Let me tell you a… a story of when I was a kid. Even younger than either of you are.”

       That caught their attention; they straightened and dropped their legs so that they could turn to face Frisk better.

       Once the ambassador had their complete attention, they began. “When I was five, my mother died. When I was six, my grandfather, who’d I been living with, got sick and couldn’t take care of me anymore. So, my mom’s old friends, they did some digging and managed to find my father. They contacted him, managed to drag him back from the other side of the country. They tried to talk him into taking care of me. Into finally acting like my father. Do you know what he did?”

       Chara was stock-still; this was, after all, something they’d never heard about. They hadn’t even told Sans about this. “No.”

       “The asshole looked me dead in the face and said _that is no child of mine._ Which, now, let’s be fair—is nowhere near as bad as what your parents did. But, again, I was six and what it meant was he’d rather toss me out on the streets than even look at me. They talked to him for a good hour, trying to talk him around, but in the end, the only thing they got out of him was his consent into turning me over into foster care. Now, what happened after that, eh, that’s another story,” they said, waving their hand in the air as if they could physically shake off the past. “But, fact is, I never forgave. For a decade, I never heard a single word from him and I was glad for it. After that, I found out he was dead.”

       Chara frowned. “What then?”

       Frisk shrugged. “I still didn’t forgive him. But, you know, I never… tried to reach out to him, so when he died, that was it. No time to ask questions, no answers to receive. I had nothing. And I’ll never get them either.” They paused, frowning; they longed to reach out and hug Chara. They looked they might need it, with the way their eyes were reflecting the light. Still, they didn’t dare intrude on their personal space. So, to compromise, Frisk held their hands out to Chara. To their slight surprise, the child reached back and slipped their hands into Frisk’s. Smiling warmly, Frisk gave their hands a squeeze. “I… I still wouldn’t forgive him. What he did to me, I _still_ won’t forgive. So, look, what I’m saying is this—if you two don’t decide to forgive your parents, _I will completely understand and support you._ I will defend your right to not forgive them to my death. But, you have to understand, that means you have to be okay with things staying as they are. If you can’t forgive, you cannot move forward with them.”

       Chara’s hands clenched in theirs. “Why?”

       Frisk smiled sadly at them. “It wouldn’t be fair to them otherwise. You’d create a one-way relationship. They may or may not deserve your sympathy, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t worth basic compassion, Chara. Whether any of us like it or not, sometimes we have to let go of our hurts so as to not hurt others more than we might already have.”

       Frowning, they glanced away, but nodded silently.

       Giving their hands a gentle squeeze, Frisk called their attention back to them. “Look, this is a really big decision. Luckily, I’m fairly sure you have time to think it over. Boss monster aging still takes awhile, right? Didn’t Toriel say that it’ll still take a few hundred years before their magic runs out?”

       Chara looked away again and nodded.

       “And this world, despite everything, isn’t so violent and dangerous as it, uh, once was. They’re still powerful enough to look after themselves. So, you two, take your time and think it over. It’s a big thing to put on you two, especially at your age,” they sighed. “I’m sorry you have to bear it. But, like I said, whatever you two decide, I’m going to be right here to support you, okay?”

       Chara closed their eyes and nodded. When those eyes opened again, it was Asriel looking out. Without a beat, he let go of their hands and tossed his arms around their middle. “Thanks, Frisk.”

       Surprised, Frisk chuckled but squeezed him back. “Don’t worry about it. Whatever happens, we’ll tackle it all together as it comes, okay?”

       He nodded, not pulling back. “Okay.”

       Smiling, Frisk patted his back and leaned back into the bench. Asriel followed with them and ended up lying against their stomach, still clinging to them. Chuckling, Frisk ruffled the fur on the top of his head. “Geez, this was a pretty big discussion to have on a day like this, eh?”

       Asriel laughed, a weak but happy thing. “Yeah.”

       “Mmm, I kinda feel that after something big like that, we should have ice cream.”

       The prince perked up. “I think I saw some in the freezer downstairs.” He paused and frowned. “But Papyrus said supper would be done in a bit.”

       Frisk playfully tugged on one of his ears. “Then we’ll have it _after_ supper. Now, do me a favor? Run downstairs and see how much longer until dinner’s done. Did he say what we’re having?”

       “It _was_ going to be spaghetti again,” he said airily, sitting up. “But I talked him into tuna noodle casserole instead.”

       “My hero. Still, mind finding out how much longer it’s going to be?”

       He nodded and jumped up. “Be right back! You, uh, you can go back to smoking now.”

       Frisk chuckled. “Thanks, bud. I’ll be down in a bit either way.”

       He waved as he ducked back into their room, his footsteps vanishing quickly as he scrambled away. However, as his footsteps faded, another pair took their place. Frisk only had to wait a minute for Sans to appear, strolling casually out. He already changed into more comfortable clothes and looked quite content as he saluted them idly. “Yo.”

       “Hey, yourself. Hell of a day, huh?”

       “Eh, I got a few good naps in. You, on the other hand—first boring meetings, then a heavy discussion with the kid about their parents? Pass.”

       Frisk had to laugh. “Sometimes life is _rough.”_

       “Well, thought I should warn you Papyrus burnt the casserole, so we’re having Thai tonight. It’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

       “Hah! What a day,” they shook their head and reached for their smokes and lighter. Glancing up at him, they smiled and gestured him over. “Wanna have a smoke with me? I was just about to watch the sunset.”

       He shrugged, but he wasted no time in walking over and lying down with his back to their stomach. They had half a mind to protest that they were no body pillow, but to be honest, it was exactly what they’d hoped would happen. They tossed one arm around his chest and pulled a cigarette free with their lips. Lighting the cigarette, Frisk enjoyed a long drag before handing the stick down to him. Together, they silently watched the sun disappear over the horizon and evening crept in.


	2. Papyrus's Very Odd  Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Chapter Twelve of The World, Upside Down. Papyrus's POV of his encounter with Data!Frisk.

            Papyrus called himself Great not for nothing. He was the undisputed champion of rhythm games, the master of the greatest car in the world, the crusader of internet trolls. He could roust his brother from his bed even at his most tiring moments, the one Toriel called her most enthusiastic student.

            (He’d always known he was the greatest. But sometimes, it seemed a little like he wasn’t the greatest best friend. Like the night Mettaton found Frisk, when he shoved Papyrus into his dressing room with Frisk under strict orders not to let the human escape into the ether again. They’d sat smashed up against each other on the too small loveseat someone dared call a couch, their head laid on his shoulder, patting his arm. _“You’re the best, Papyrus. You were always my favorite.”_

            He felt guilty, but it seemed to him that surely Toriel or Asgore or even Undyne were probably far more likely candidates for their favorite person. After all, if he was really so great, if he was really their best friend, why didn’t it seem enough to make them call him even once in the entire year since they’d vanished?)

            Another thing he was very great at was snail hunting; Toriel had said so. It was an underrated talent in his opinion, one only Frisk and Toriel ever seemed to show much interest in. But then, Toriel was the one who’d taught him and Frisk, so he wasn’t sure she counted.

            But Frisk cared. _That_ was important enough. It was just— _why?_ Why couldn’t Frisk be there to join him in hunting? Frisk was always fun to go snail hunting with—they were quiet and patient, but forever ready to listen to whatever he thought to say to them. The hunts were lonelier without them there.

            Which is why he nearly dropped his bucket in glee when he found them crouching down by the fence. They were facing Toriel’s home, looking deep into the grass of the meadow between the house and the woods. His first wild thought was that Toriel had sent them out here to join him in snail hunting, although he dismissed it quickly enough—obviously, Frisk would have come straight to him if they were coming to join him. All the same, he had to be sure this wasn’t some mirage conjured by his lonely mood—carefully, he set his bucket of snails aside and straightened again.

            “Human?” he called; he watched them pause before turning to look at him. Seeing their familiar face, he couldn’t help but beam. “Human! It _is_ you! Oh, Frisk, you came home! And on time!”

            He didn’t mean to add that last part; he didn’t want them to know that he’d often paused to worry over the weekend that maybe come Monday they wouldn’t be back. That he’d have to wait another year to see his dear friend again. What if they had discarded their phone again? What if they just never answered it?

            But then Frisk stood and Papyrus forgot his worries in his rush to wrap his arms around their shoulders. They gripped back, just as tight—Papyrus was great, but when it came to hugs, sometimes he wondered if Frisk might be a little better. He wouldn’t mind if they were; after all, they were always happy to share their hugs with him. “Papyrus. It’s you.”

            Well, what a silly thing to say! He laughed and pulled back so he could look them in their face. Was it just him, or did they look awful tired around their eyes? Perhaps their hike had worn them out—perhaps they were going to reconsider going away on these trips of theirs. “Of course it’s me, silly human! Who else would it be? Truly, is there anyone half as great as I who could even begin to pretend to be me?”

            They laughed and some of that tired edge fell from their face. Good; his friend should never look worn down. “No, no way. You’re one in a million.”

            It was a sentiment his brother had said before, but it felt good to hear coming from someone else. “I’m glad you agree!” But still, there was something nagging him. “But, Frisk, what are you doing out here?”

            “I, uh, just got back.” They blinked. “What are you doing out here?”

            “Oh!” he gasped, before remembering his snails and grinning mischievously. Finally, someone to appreciate the hard work he’d put in today! “Well, wait just a moment, Frisk, and you shall see! Nyeheheh,” he giggled, turning around. Quickly, he turned back and held up the bucket to show off his haul. “Behold! I have gone snail hunting! Feast your eyes on the incredible variety I have found just within the woods here!”

            Frisk was all grins as they peered in. Sure, he knew most were duplicates and that Frisk would know that, but every single snail inside was a special masterpiece. Each shell was different and wonderful and he knew Frisk would understand that. “They look great, Papyrus. Are they for mom?”

            “Nyeheh! Yes, your mother did ask for them. She said I could keep the shells when she’s done,” he added brightly.

            They looked in and smiled at his gatherings. He knew they would approve! “My, you must have quite the collection by now.”

            “This will make over three hundred!” He beamed, stooping to set his bucket down again. Something caught his eye as he bent and he paused to look up. Looking up, he felt himself freeze and the bucket slipped from his fingers. He gasped and grabbed their hand, pulling it closer so he could see the awful hole in their hand. Something about it seemed… he wasn’t sure. He decided on troubling. “Oh, Frisk! What has happened to your hand? Are you injured?”

            Poor Frisk; he thought for a moment that they would go faint on him, but then they smiled and he allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief. “Oh, no, it’s okay, Papyrus. I, um, I had a little accident. A monster, they, um. Anyway, it’s only temporary. Don’t worry about it.”

            “Temporary?” He blinked at them, still clutching their hand. “Humans can heal from this amount of damage?”

            They smiled, the faint look finally leaving their face. “Oh, my hand isn’t damaged. It’s just a little spell. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine in no time.”

            This sounded suspiciously like something his brother might say when he wasn’t feeling the best. In fact, the more he thought about, the more Sans-like he realized Frisk was acting. It wasn’t a comforting thought. Still, he didn’t want to say that to them; what if he upset them? Instead, he squeezed their hand. “If… if you insist, human. You’re sure you’re alright though?”

            Their smile looked so warm, it made some of his fear vanish. “I’m sure. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

            For a second, he wondered if this was the moment he’d been waiting for, although he hadn’t known he was waiting for it. He wondered if he should admit to them how much they had worried him—worried him for their hand, for all those times they went away with barely a warning. About the time they _had_ left without warning, about the year he’d spent besides himself with worry while Sans, Toriel, Asgore, and even Undyne and Alphys had all waited for Frisk to return. Then the moment passed and he decided that he didn’t want to ruin the mood they were sharing. This was a happy moment after all—Frisk was home! _That_ was the important thing. “Worry not, because the Great Papyrus _never_ worries!” He paused, feeling a touch guilty. “Well, I _might_ over think things a little, but that is only because I have a great mind that likes to ponder possibilities.”

            They grinned. “That’s the truth.”

            “Nyheheh! Yes, it surely is! Now, shall we go up to the house? Your mother will be so excited to see that you are home now!”

            Their smile faltered for a moment, but then it returned in full force. “Okay, I’ll be there in just a minute. I just, um, wanted to get a little fresh air to myself before I go inside. Country air is great, isn’t it?”

            He nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, it certainly is the best! As much as I like driving down the city streets for all to look upon my greatness, nothing truly beats the country atmosphere! But,” he paused, voice softening. “Are you sure you don’t come in with me yet? Lady Toriel will be so happy. Even Sans, I’m sure, will be happy to see you!”

            Their expression changed, but then they were looking down before he could figure out what had prompted the shift. “Papyrus, your snails are escaping.”

            “What?! Oh, no! Quick, Frisk, help me catch them!”

            The two quickly bent down and began to grab all the wayward snails and put them back in the bucket. Once they had them all, Frisk stood as Papyrus straightened. “That looks like all of them. You better get them in to mom fast before they try to escape again.”

            “I will! No slippery snail shall escape me this time,” he paused. “You won’t be long?”

            “Promise. I’ll meet you there in a bit, okay?”

            If he had a stomach, it would have clenched. They weren’t planning to sneak away again, were they? Surely, they wouldn’t, not so soon—would they? He forced himself to nod before they could see the doubt in his face. He never wanted them to see that; after all, he had to support them, even if they did baffling things like disappear and worry him half to death. Before his face betrayed him, he started to walk away.

            He didn’t get far before he suddenly felt Frisk’s arms around his neck. He blinked down at them. “Human?”

            They shook their head against his shoulder. “Sorry, I… I’m just so _glad_ to see you. I missed you.”

            He pulled one of his arms free to wrap around them, tugging them closer. Whatever had prompted this, he didn’t mind. At least when he had Frisk at his side, it meant they wouldn’t vanish on him. “I missed you too, Frisk. May… maybe you will consider staying home for now? It’s never the same when you’re gone.” There, that was gentle enough, wasn’t it? It wouldn’t sound like nagging, would it?

            But then Frisk didn’t answer.

            Had he overstepped? He frowned, mentally kicking himself for doing exactly what he hoped he wouldn’t do. “Frisk?”

            Thankfully, they didn’t leave him in the lurch for long. “Oh, sorry. I, um. Sorry. Got lost for a second there.”

            He frowned at them; this was odd. But maybe it wasn’t that he’d hurt them—what if it was something else? “Are you sure you’re alright? Why don’t you come inside and get a glass of water? You might be getting heatstroke out here!”

            Undyne got heatstroke easily—it made her act funny too.

            But then they smiled and his at least that worry went away. “No, no. I’m fine. I just need a few minutes to gather myself. You go head on in. We’ll talk in a bit, okay?”

            Reluctantly, he nodded. “Alright, Frisk. But I’m expecting you to come in no less than three minutes! That’s more than enough time to get fresh air, even if it is good country air, okay?”

            “Okay, Papyrus. Just go on ahead.”

            “Talk to you a few minutes, human,” he said; he wished he could just flat out make them promise, but he thought that might be a step too far. But then they sent him their warm smile, the one that promised it would all be alright. For a moment, the worry in his heart quieted and he found himself turning away. Still, as he went, a little niggling thought told him to go faster—if he left faster, it might make Frisk hurry up to join him again.

            He was nearly jogging by the time he reached the house. He slid the glass door open without pausing to realize that people were talking inside. When he looked up, he nearly dropped his bucket again.

            Frisk, who’d been leaning against the table, brightened at the sight of him. “Papyrus!” Then they were tossing their arms around his neck, nearly squashing the bucket of snails between them, and the skeleton was very, very confused.

            Toriel only laughed. “I was just telling Frisk that you should be coming back at any moment.”

            Papyrus frowned. “Frisk, how did you beat me back to the house?”

            Frisk froze and Toriel frowned at him; after a moment, Frisk pulled back to stare at him. “What? Papyrus, I just got back. I literally just pulled in the drive and came in to talk to mom. It was the _first_ thing I did.”

            “But,” he began, clutching his bucket. “But we were just talking! We talked about the snails I caught and then—your hand!” He nearly tossed his bucket at the table and scrambled to grab their hand; they looked baffled but let him study their hand. It was, however, unremarkably whole and well, as was the other. “Do… do humans really recover _that_ quickly from wounds like that?”

            Their face was doing funny expressions as it scrunched up, but he felt no amusement. “Papyrus, my hands are fine. What would be wrong with my hands?”

            “There was a hole in them!” he retorted, letting go. What was going on? When would it all make sense?

            “Whose hands have holes?”

            Papyrus and Frisk both jumped and turned to look at the kitchen’s doorway. Sans was leaning in, but he hardly seemed to notice that Frisk was there at all. Instead, he was focused in on his brother. Papyrus huffed. “Frisk did, but now it’s gone!”

            Sans blinked and his serious expression receded. “Frisk had a hole in their hand?” For a moment, his gaze slid past Papyrus to the human. There was that moment again, like brittle glass—it always happened, just for a moment, whenever Frisk and Sans met again. Despite his or Toriel’s questions, Sans never explained what prompted the odd moments and Frisk was just as evasive. Sometimes his brother and his friend were annoyingly alike. Then Sans cleared his throat and the moment was gone. “Don’t look like they have a hole now.”

            “But they _did,”_ Papyrus insisted. Why did no one believe him? “Frisk, how on earth did you get it to go away so fast?”

            Frisk frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Papyrus, I’m sorry.”

            Toriel sighed and reached for him. “My dear, maybe you got too much sun. Why don’t you come sit at the table and I’ll-”

            Now Toriel was treating him like a baby. Papyrus loved his sister-in-law, but he _hated_ people treating him like a baby. He yanked away from her, his hand swinging out and knocking the bucket over. Snails spilled across the dinner table, but he didn’t care. “I did _not_ get too much sun and I was _not_ seeing things!”

            Toriel winced. “Papyrus, I didn’t mean to imply that you were seeing things.”

            Papyrus, dignity still stinging, took a deep breath. “And,” he added, chest tight. “And you can’t hug mirages! So I know that the Frisk I met out there wasn’t a fake!” He paused, glancing to the Frisk next to him. “I _saw_ you—you were wearing those clothes you are right now and-” He paused, blinking. “Except, they looked kinda shabby.” He frowned; now that he thought about it, that wasn’t the only thing off about that other Frisk. “And you were all messy. And you—um, I’m sorry to say something mean, but you smelled like you hadn’t bathed in a couple days.”

            Frisk blinked at him before turning to Toriel. “What if it was a prowler?”

            The moment the notion was on the table, quickly the room was galvanized to action. Someone called Undyne and the police to search the woods and then Papyrus had to repeat the whole conversation again and again. In the end, it was decided that if it was a prowler, Papyrus had probably scared them off when he caught them.

            But that night, as he lay in bed, staring up at the stars stuck on his ceiling, he thought back to that other Frisk again. He was certain that they were real and that they’d really been Frisk—they knew him too well to just be some stranger, been too kind to be a fake.

            But more than anything, the more he thought it over, the more he was certain. The other Frisk hadn’t just been distracted. There was something more to their behavior.

            The other Frisk was _sad_ and _lonely._ He knew it in every inch of his bones. Maybe the Frisk had been staring in at the house because they had wanted to join in too. Maybe that’s why they were so happy to see him, but distracted too. Maybe that Frisk understood how much it hurt to not have the ones you cherish near.

            Wherever that other Frisk had gone, he hoped they were somewhere that made them happy. Somewhere with friends and people who loved them. Gazing at the stars glowing up at the ceiling, Papyrus counted them out, closed his eyes, and _wished_.

            _Be happy, Frisk. Be happy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ClearAsMyst asked to see Papyrus's thoughts during his scene with Data!Frisk. Here we get to see a little bit of the fallout from when Frisk ran away for a year; he doesn't come flat out and say it in this, but Papyrus thinks of himself as Frisk's older brother, so he took their leaving awful hard. Poor Papyrus.
> 
> I still have three chapters finished for this story, about three started, and a few more after that. If you have any requests for stories set in this world, shoot them past me and I'll see what I can do!


	3. The Better to Taste You With, My Dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's written in present tense. Because why not. This was the second oldest side story I have, which I wrote all the way back in January.
> 
> Anyway, I figure it was time I lived up to the claim of Sans/Frisk in the tags. Enjoy.

            Sharp, filed teeth line Sans’ mouth. He has no lips, no tongue, not even gums, or a soft palette—there is nothing appealing about it. It is a mouth meant to tear and rip with each bite. There is nothing tender or gentle about the way light glints off those teeth.

            Looking at Frisk and the attention they paid to each jagged tooth though, you wouldn’t know that. Their tongue is slick in his mouth, exploring, caressing. Running across every ridge, tasting, tracing the edge of each tooth. His teeth are sharp enough that if they aren’t careful, they’ll cut their tongue on a tooth—he’s tasted their blood before, the magic of his body telling him its metallic tang.

            He honestly has no idea what they get out of it, but he doesn’t stop them either. Really, he shouldn’t be getting anything out of it either—his magic isn’t that good at telling the taste of Frisk’s mouth and he has to stay perfectly still or he might accidentally slice their tongue open.

            And yet.

            Once again, they are in bed again, paperwork scattered around them, forgotten. One paper is being crumpled under Frisk’s right knee, but neither of them cares. The bed is technically Frisk’s, but the two nod off so consistently each night as they look over paperwork that Sans never sleeps in his own bed in the bedroom downstairs. Now that room just sits empty while he sits in Frisk’s bed.

            Frisk is humming something, the noise reverberating in his skull. He doesn’t mind—it’s a pleasant sound to go with the pleasant feeling of their tongue sliding against the back of his teeth. Their right hand presses against his shoulder to steady them, but their left cups his jaw, their thumb idly rubbing circles against it. It takes a strong perfume for him to smell anything, but Frisk is so close, he can smell their natural aroma filling his head. Sound, smell, and touch would be enjoyable enough, but it’s the sight of Frisk that sells it.

            How many people get to enjoy this vision now? No one but him, that’s who—Frisk is an accomplished flirt, sometimes straddling the line of inappropriate during work, but Frisk is also faithful to a fault. No one else can see Frisk’s face, content and at ease, the tension from their long day of work already drained from the lines of their body. They sigh against his mouth and he can’t stop the shiver running down his spine. They chuckle and sweetly kiss the corner of his mouth, perhaps the safest part of his maw.

            Somewhere downstairs, a clock chimes one. Frisk sighs and pulls away to press their foreheads together. “We should probably go to sleep,” they murmur, but their voice is husky and their eyes glitter darkly.  “But that’d be boring.”

            “Yeah,” he manages. “Might want to get the proposal from Mister Katsuki out from under your knee though.”

            They pause, frowning down at the offending piece of paper. They pry the sheet out from under their knee, glancing at it but not bothering to read it before they casually toss the paper over the side of the bed. “Whatever,” they sigh, reaching for him again. “I’ll just print a new copy later.”

            “Well, if _that’s_ the way it is,” he replies before tossing the stack of papers that had been by his side off the other side of the bed. There are other piles of papers, ones that they just can’t reprint, but he just thinks _fuck ‘em._ Who gives a shit about papers when Frisk is looking at him like _that?_ He leans back, tugging them forward to press against his rib cage. He can feel Frisk reaching for the buttons of their pants, but he’s more distracted by their tongue idly tracing the edge of one of his canines. He obliges them, opening his mouth to them.

            There is no tenderness in his mouth but that which Frisk leaves there.


	4. The Trouble With Cats

            Looking back, Frisk sometimes wondered how on earth one of them didn’t try to kill one of the others more often. After the barrier came down, after Asriel and Chara returned, after Frisk became ambassador, after Papyrus was assigned to protect the returned royal children, the five moved in together. It made sense after all; Frisk was Asriel and Chara’s guardian, if unofficially, so they had to live together. Papyrus was to protect the children, so he had to be near them.

            Sans, being Sans, was not going to live separately from Papyrus or Frisk. He was taking his promise to look after Frisk more seriously than anything Papyrus had ever seen from him.

            “Which,” Papyrus quietly admitted to Undyne once, “is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my life! Whatever happens, it’ll only be an improvement.”

            Undyne snorted and tossed more of the charred remains of her kitchen table—another successful cooking lesson, something Frisk had recommended they try on a whim one day and now can’t bring themselves to regret—into the trash pile outside her home. “You say that now, but the only roommate you’ve ever had in your whole life was Sans. Just wait to see the whole new ways they’re going to get under your skin.”

            “I don’t _have_ skin.”

            Undyne shot him a flat look. “That’s even the worse. Now they can work their way into your _bones.”_

            Papyrus had no idea what that meant, but it felt ominous. Still, they were getting out of that shithole in Snowdin and _far_ away from the Canine Unit. No matter how annoying they found each other, he was certain it couldn’t outweigh that fact.

            However, they weren’t even moved into the new Ambassador’s House in New Home and already Frisk was frowning.

            “Oh, wow, that’s… that’s a lot of cats,” they murmured, brows raised high.

            Sans shrugged. “Pap tends to collect them. He’s like a cat whisperer or something.”

            Asriel only looked enraptured as he crouched down to look eye to eye with the fat orange tabby with the snaggletooth. “How many of them are there?”

            “Six,” Papyrus answered before glaring at his brother. “And I do not collect them! They all came to _me_. They are nothing like those socks you keep lying around. Socks! Disgusting. At least the cats are useful.”

            Sans shrugged; Papyrus nearly snapped at him for his disrespect before he remembered that ‘kill or be killed’ was no more and there was no need for that now. Instead, he let it slide. He did not miss, however, his brother’s flinch.

            “What are their names?” Asriel asked, wriggling his fingers at the orange tabby in hopes to entice it closer. It only narrowed its eyes at him.

            “The one in front of you is Thunder Claw. The black one sleeping on the couch is Death Stroke. The white one is Doom Fanger.” He pointed to the white one in a bookshelf then pointed to the skinny Siamese next to it. “That is Shadow Stalker. There’s a gray one running around, he’s Night Terror.” He paused and reached down to scoop up the calico cat that had been twining round and round his boots. “And this one is Jellybean.”

            Frisk smiled but didn’t try to come closer, even as Asriel climbed to his feet to tickle Jellybean’s stomach. “That’s cute, but why Jellybean?”

            Papyrus glared. “Because jellybeans are the work of pure evil,” he rumbled but instantly brightened as Jellybean began to bat at the handkerchief tied around his neck. “And she’s a terrifying creature of wickedness, isn’t she?”

            Asriel giggled while Frisk and Sans shared an amused look. “Are we really taking all of them with us?”

            “Of course we are!” Papyrus scoffed. “I could not leave them _here_ to fend for themselves with those _freaks.”_

            Frisk frowned again. “Um, quick question. Are these monster or regular cats?”

            “Regular,” Sans answered before Papyrus could demand what that was supposed to mean.

            Frisk’s frown only deepened. “Oh. Are they… strictly indoor or can they go in and out?”

            Papyrus narrowed his eyes at them. “In and out? _Why?”_

            For a moment, Frisk stood silently; Sans and Asriel began to watch them intently, wondering what was going on. Finally, Frisk hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I think we might need to make them indoor cats. I, um, I’m kind of allergic.”

            They paused as the atmosphere around them froze; Sans looked resigned while Asriel looked confused. Papyrus, on the other hand, was glaring. “ _How_ allergic?”

            Frisk held their hands up submissively. “Not terribly, but my face will get super itchy and blotchy if they rub against it. I, um, only have that reaction to cats that go outside. Indoor cats are fine.”

            “Sounds like you’re allergic to something they’re getting into,” Sans commented idly, nudging Thunder Claw away as he tried to knead on Sans’ pant leg.

            “Probably, but I don’t know to _what_. It only happens with cats though.”

            Papyrus fell quiet—well, this was not _so_ bad. At least Frisk wasn’t demanding he get rid of them or put them outside. “I’m not opposed to making them strictly indoor cats.” He paused and grimaced. “Although, they should all be given baths before we move them if it is something from them being out of doors that is making you allergic.”

            “Not helping,” Sans announced, quickly taking a step back.

            Frisk frowned. “Not to, um, sound like I’m trying to get out of work, but I don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to help with that. Perhaps I’ll work on packing up instead.”

            “Maybe we should just eat them and save ourselves the headache,” Sans offered with a cheerful grin. “We’d even get a meal or two out of it.”

            Several sharp, pointed bones appeared around the shorter skeleton’s skull. Sans began to sweat.

            “Or, um, maybe I’ll just be quiet.”

            Frisk frowned. “Papyrus, you shouldn’t threaten him.” They reached out to grab the nearest bone; Papyrus banished them before they could get a hold of one. Still, when he opened his mouth to protest, Frisk turned to Sans. “And you, stop teasing him.”

            Asriel cleared his throat to distract them from the sour atmosphere and tried to look cheerful about it. “Can I help?”

            That, at least, made Papyrus smile. “Of course, your highness! I’d be glad to have you assist me.”

 

 

 

 

            It went about as well as Sans and Frisk thought it would. By the end of it, there was a large water stain spreading across the living room ceiling and even Sans was looking slightly worried at it moved outward. In the bathroom, there was a racket of crying cats, shouts from the two monsters (most of which were either “oww!” and “don’t let him get away!”), and the constant sounds of splashing water.

            “On the upshot,” Sans commented, sitting on the couch next to Frisk, eyeing the precarious ceiling, “who gives a fuck about water damage when we aren’t going to be living here anymore?”

            Frisk grimaced. “You’re not moved out _yet_. Also, that’s going to ruin the property value, isn’t it?”

            “Well, I doubt anyone would want to buy this place anyway,” Sans shrugged. Upstairs, Asriel cried out for the fifth time; the skeleton wondered how much blood was mixing with the bathwater. Maybe Doom Fanger would come out pink colored from it. That’d be kinda funny. “Maybe we’ll burn it down as we leave.”

            Frisk frowned. “This place is made out of concrete blocks, isn’t it? It won’t burn.”

            “Well, not with that kind of attitude, it won’t.”

            Frisk laughed, but their mirth died when there was a particularly loud wail of pain from upstairs followed quickly with loud splashing and a yelp from Papyrus. Sans and Frisk shared a look before a door open. Two very damp cats flew down the stairs and peeled off into different directions. Shortly afterward, Asriel wandered down, shirt and fur soaked, his face depressed.

            “Az, sweetie, what’s wrong?” Frisk asked, sitting up. “I thought you were helping Papyrus with the cats.”

            “I _was,”_ he answered, his clothes squelching as he walked over. Looking at the prince, Sans snickered softly; he looked like a drowned rat. Frisk heard and elbowed him in his ribs. Asriel didn’t seem to notice. “Then Night Terror decided that I’m _the worst_ and tried to climb into Papyrus’s skull rather than let me hold him.”

            _What a glorious mental image._ Sans choked on a strangled laugh; Frisk ignored him. “Cats can be very particular about how they’re held and who’s holding them, I’m afraid.”

            “I noticed,” he grumbled. He reached up and began to wring water out of his shirt directly onto the floor. That at least made Sans wince. “Then Jellybean wouldn’t stop scratching me. She got my ankle and I fell into the tub trying to get away. That’s when Papyrus said to just go.”

            Frisk frowned and got up to walk over to him. Looking at him closer, they both could see the numerous scratches, especially the nasty one on his ankle; it was lucky his fur was as thick as it was, otherwise it would have probably been worse. Still, looking him over, it had to all sting badly. Sans didn’t envy him one bit.

            Frisk took a Cinnamon Bunny out of their inventory and handed it to him. “Here, eat this and go get into something dry.”

            Sniffling, he took the treat and resignedly began to nibble on it as he turned and walked towards the bag of clothes Asgore had sent for him. Taking the bag and the healing treat, Asriel shuffled off to find a room to change in while Frisk turned to frown up at the ceiling.

            “Maybe I should go help instead,” they murmured as Papyrus shouted _‘don’t climb the tiles!’_ again.

            “You’re allergic,” Sans shot back, wincing at a crash.

            “Well, maybe I could dry them? If they’re clean, I’m alright.”

            “I wouldn’t recommend it,” he replied bluntly. “Those damn things only really like Papyrus and they’re going to be wound up. Just let him suffer through it. After all, they’re his damn critters.”

            Frisk might have argued but the ceiling began to groan ominously. Frisk and Sans shared a single worried look before they both scrambled to move television away from the water that began to drip from the ceiling.

 

 

 

            The cats emerged from their baths furious and spiteful, but at the same time, they decided they wanted nothing to do with anyone, so Frisk didn’t have to worry about allergic reactions. Too bad they were still in this mood a week later when it came time to move them from Snowdin to the four’s new home in the Ambassador’s House. (Asgore was bad with names in any universe, it seemed.)

            The Siamese, Shadow Stalker, gave up the fastest and was more eager to follow Papyrus around, crying at him as he tried to catch Death Stroke. Even when she got put into her carrying case, all she did was lay down and cry piteously at him until Asriel came over to try and make friends again.

            Night Terror, which Papyrus had called ‘the gray one’ but was in reality a Russian Blue, was tricked into coming out by dangling a bag of catnip on a string before Papyrus snatched him up. He seemed resigned to his carrying case, but then spent the rest of his time silently trying to pick the lock, so Asriel had to babysit him as well, to keep him from escaping.

            Doom Fanger and Thunder Claw were caught together, asleep in a box. There was a short conversation about just taping the box up and carrying them in it, but then it was decided they would probably destroy the box before they could get it to New Home. Asriel’s two new charges yowled and shook their cases so hard that they rattled across the kitchen floor. Death Stroke also made a racket when he was forcibly ripped from the top of a bookshelf in Papyrus’ room and then put in his case.

            Jellybean, on the other hand, refused to go down easily and led Papyrus, Frisk, and Sans on a merry chase throughout the entire house until she was finally cornered in the living room. Sans guarded the stairs, rather reluctantly since all this running around was tiring him out, while Papyrus and Frisk tried to close in on the cat. The only doorway left open was the kitchen, where Asriel would be waiting with the last carrying case.

            Jellybean had other plans. When Frisk and Papyrus got too close, she shot forward, between them. Both lunged forward to grab her and thus both smashed their foreheads together. Papyrus cursed and clutched his brow, while Frisk fell to their knees, their hands shaking as they resisted the urge to clutch their forehead. The two distracted, Jellybean turned on a dime and shot straight for Sans, claws out and eyes crying for blood.

            Sans took one moment to blink and then promptly ducked out of the cat’s path. The cat flew past him and raced up the stairs.

            “Sans! You idiot! Why didn’t you catch her?” Papyrus shouted, shaking off his pain to stalk over and up the stairs.

            Sans pressed himself against the wall to let his brother pass. “Sorry, boss, but I didn’t feel like bleeding just so you could catch your cat.” Papyrus growled and disappeared up the stairs. Sans watched him go before glancing at Frisk who was only just then picking themselves back up. “You okay, babe?”

            “I’ll live,” Frisk sighed, reaching up to delicately prod at the mark on their forehead before they inspected their fingers. They frowned as they glared at the dark stain on their new black gloves. Sighing, they dug out a piece of candy to heal their wound. “Your brother has a _really_ hard head.”

            “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying for years.”

            For a moment, Frisk shot him an amused look as they popped the candy into their mouth. They opened their mouth to make a remark of their own, but then a white, orange, and black blur shot down the stairs.

            _“CATCH HER!”_ Papyrus roared.

            Sans again let the cat slip past him, but this time, Frisk didn’t give up. As the cat shot past them, they dove and reached for them. They’d been aiming to grab her by the scruff of her neck, but the calico was so fast that Frisk missed grabbing her neck, shoulders, or even her back and their hand clamped firmly down on her tail. For a second, Jellybean didn’t even know she was caught and kept moving forward; the abrupt and painful stop to her running almost stunned her, but in less than a heartbeat, she’d whirled around latched onto Frisk’s arm. Frisk gasped in pain as they got four separate set of claws and a mouth full of sharp teeth embedded into their skin.

            Sans winced. “Christ. Frisk, you okay?”

            Frisk wheezed.

            Papyrus finally reached the stairs and started to descend until he caught sight of Frisk and Jellybean’s struggles. “Um. Unorthodox and very stupid method of catching her, human, but at least you got the job done. Now, uh, why don’t you let me take her from here?”

            “Please,” Frisk whimpered.

            Quickly, both skeletons hurried over to them; Papyrus untangled the cat from Frisk’s arm although Jellybean threw a few last swipes at Frisk before Papyrus could get her away. He carried the furious creature into the kitchen, leaving Sans to help Frisk up.

            “Babe, seriously, are you okay?”

            Frisk only shook their head, tears welling up in their eyes.

            “Hold on. I got you.” With a sigh, Sans dug out a cigarette for them and lit it. The item glowed green and dissolved into their mouth; the next second the wound was healed up, although there was several bright pink scars left on their arm.

            Pain subsided, Frisk let out a shaky breath. “That… that wasn’t my best idea.”

            “Well, no, not especially.”

            “Can we pretend it didn’t happen?”

            Sans patted their shoulder. “Sure, babe.”

            Sighing, Frisk looked down at the carpet and frowned. “Ugh, now there’s blood on the floor.”

            “Eh, don’t worry about it. Now the floor can have a stain like the ceiling does.”

            “I can’t wait to get this over with,” they grumbled as the two of them walked to the kitchen, where Papyrus was trying to wrestle Jellybean into her carry case.

 

 

 

            In the new place, Papyrus refused to let any of the cats out until he’d gone over one final inspection of every single room in the Ambassador’s house. Frisk and Sans fell onto the couch while Asriel played with the cats in the cages. Once Papyrus released the cats, they all thought that would be the end of it.

            It wasn’t. Turns out, four of the six cats were none too thrilled with the idea of being cooped up inside all the time. Shadow Stalker and Death Stroke were the only ones semi-pleased with their new home and constraints and seemed mostly content to sleep in Papyrus’s room for a week or so before they found new perches and beds. The other four clawed at windows and raced to squeeze out of doors at every chance.

            It took three weeks for the first grand escape. Frisk wouldn’t have thought it would be Doom Fanger who managed it, being a mostly cuddly ball of fluff. But they were wrong and after a whole day of the cat being conspicuously absent, Chara found a large tear in one of the window screens in the empty rooms. While the House had a total of six bedrooms, three were water damaged and needed to have the floors ripped out—since they didn’t plan to be living in the Underground for another year, they just closed up the rooms and ignored them. Somehow, though, Doom Fanger had gotten inside one. At first, Papyrus and Sans had a genuine moment of worry that there was a security breach. Then Frisk paused and reached out to pull a long white hair off the tear in the screen.

            “It’s not one of ours,” Chara announced after a quick check—it was too long and the texture was rougher than any part of the boss monster’s fur.

            Papyrus buried his face in his hands for a moment before taking a deep breath and raising it again. “Help me find him.”

            “What? Bro, we got work in the morning and the kid’s got school,” Sans instantly spoke up. “We’re never going to find him in this damn city.” He shrunk under Papyrus’s glare. “Um. I mean, he’ll probably come back on his own. So, there’s no point for us to run ourselves ragged looking for him.”

            Papyrus’s glare only intensified and Sans began to sweat. Rather than let a fight break out, Frisk pressed on hand comfortingly between Sans’ shoulder blades and held the other up to pacify Papyrus. “That’s to say, we don’t have a lot of time to go looking. Doom Fanger might have been gone awhile, but we’re in a big, scary new place. If he got frightened, he might have stayed close to home. So. Let’s grab the bag of cat treats and some squeaky toys and go up and down the street. If none of us find him in half an hour, we’ll come back here and he’ll have to find his way back on his own.”

            It took some pressing, but Papyrus reluctantly agreed. They broke into teams of two—Papyrus and Chara took the squeak toy, since it was most likely the cat would come to Papyrus before any of them, and Sans and Frisk took the bag of treats because it was the more enticing option. After searching around the back and sides of the house, they separated and began to walk in different directions.

            “I can’t believe he’s got us looking for that goddamn cat of his,” Sans grumbled, flashing the flashlight up and down the sidewalk. “I say we just go back and say we couldn’t find anything.”

            Frisk frowned. “He’s really worried about that cat.” They held the bag up and shook it—a few alley cats and a few massive rats stuck their heads up and looked at them, but no white cat.

            Sans sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

            A few monsters peered out their windows or across the street from them as they walked past, shaking a bag and calling out the cat’s name, but thankfully no one accosted them. After a half hour, they still found nothing. Frisk sighed and started to put the bag away, but Sans spoke up.

            “Come on. There’s a fish market half a block over. We’ll check there before we head back.”

            Doom Fanger was not at the fish market. Nor was he at the pet’s store or the soup kitchen or in the trashcans behind any restaurants. Frisk would have been amused by the seventh place Sans insisted on checking, but by then their legs were starting to cramp. After peeking into one last trashcan, the skeleton slammed the lid down with an aggravated sigh. “Fuck it, I give up. Papyrus better have found the damn thing himself because if I find it first, I’m going to kill it.”

            Frisk tossed an arm around his shoulders and tugged him to their side. “And waste all that time we were out looking for him?”

            Sans shook his head, but let himself relax up against their side. “Whatever.”

            They walked, pressed together, Frisk occasionally shaking the bag on the off chance it would get a response. They were almost home when Frisk stopped. Sans looked up at them questioningly as they paused and then raised the bag. Shaking it, they paused and waited.

            From down the alley, there was a distinctly familiar meow. Something moved in the shadows—something large and white.

            Sans nearly shook in fury. “Why you little fucking-”

            Frisk squeezed his shoulder. “No raised voices. You’ll scare him.” They crouched down and opened the bag. “Hey there, Doom Fanger. Hey there, handsome. I got treats for you.”

            The cat perked up and took a step closer.

            Reaching in, Frisk pulled out a handful and tossed a few pieces into the alley. Like a flash, Doom Fanger began to gobble each piece up. However, when Frisk tried to offer him more, the cat started to back away.

            “Oh, no, you don’t,” Sans growled and his eye flashed blue. The cat rose into the air, form glowing with a blue aura.

            Frisk sighed in relief as they straightened. “I’ll call Papyrus. Let him know we found him.”

            “Good. He can take care of the damn thing,” Sans kept grumbling, glaring up at the cat as it hissed and twisted around, hating the feeling of the blue magic.

            Papyrus and Chara arrived shortly; Frisk was amused to note that Sans hardly seemed put out when Papyrus was too busy cuddling his cat to spare him a word of thanks.

            “He’s going to need another bath,” Sans commented drily as the cat purred up at Papyrus.

            “I’ll take care of it as soon as we get home,” his brother said, pulling his head back from Doom Fanger’s side. They all walked back home together; Frisk might have thought that would be the end of it. But the next morning they awoke to find a box of a baker’s dozen of spider donuts in the kitchen. Asriel eyed it mistrustfully and Papyrus nearly scalded them as he handed over their cup of coffee, the drink splashing over the sides as he shoved into their hands. “We have to leave early today. We’ll see you tonight.”

            Frisk frowned tiredly at the box as they sipped their coffee. “Were those here yesterday?”

            “No,” Asriel answered.

            “Are they for everyone?”

            _“I_ bought them,” Papyrus said, handing Asriel his book bag, as if that answered their question.

            “Oh. I see you haven’t had any.”

            Papyrus screwed up his face. “I hate the stuff. Goodbye, human.”

            “See you later, Frisk!” Asriel chirped with a wave as he followed Papyrus out of the kitchen.

            Frisk sat down, still sipping their coffee as their sleep-addled brain slowly woke up.

            After nearly an hour, Sans stumbled into the kitchen, seeking coffee. He ignored the fact it was lukewarm and began to drink straight from the pot. “That spider donuts I see?” he asked after a long drink.

            “Papyrus bought them,” they said, setting their mug in the sink. “But I don’t know if he wants them or not.”

            Sans perked up. “Oh sweet. More for us. Wants some?”

            Frisk slipped a few into their inventory while he began to immediately stuff his face. “Are you sure this is fine?”

            “Yeah, Papyrus doesn’t like spider donuts. He never buys them for himself.”

            Frisk paused, smiling. “Is this a thank you for last night?”

            Sans stopped, half-eaten donut hovering just out of range of his teeth. “Look, don’t read into it. Pap, he… he just believes in positive reinforcement.”

            Chuckling, Frisk pressed a kiss to his temple as they swiped his half-eaten donut. “If you say so.” They popped the donut into their mouth and smiled down at him.

 

 

 

            Asriel made the big discovery four months later. He’d been quiet the whole way home, letting Papyrus chatter to himself to fill the air—Papyrus was very good at that and Asriel was honestly quite glad for it today. He’d even let Papyrus hold his hand as they skirted a crowd—Papyrus hated walking him through crowds, too many chances for an attack—and then “forgot” to let go as they cleared it.

            The house was empty when they got back; Frisk and Sans would be gone until nearly dinner time. Papyrus left Asriel to his homework and went to go get started on some chore.

            Asriel walked over to the couch, let his book bag smack into the ground as it fell off his shoulder, and then slumped silently forward. Burying his face in the cushions, he reached out and dragged the nearest throw pillow to him before he planted his face in that as well.

            _I hate this,_ he thought to himself—he had to be careful, or he’d accidentally broadcast it to Chara. His skin felt itch and loose, his fur heavy, and his head cloudy. He felt like he needed to bury his roots into the ground—he needed nitrogen and good fresh earth.

            Asriel wanted to dig his claws into his feet to remind his body he didn’t have roots anymore.

            In his bag, there was another letter. He knew what it would say— _permission slips are to be signed by a child’s parent, not by unassociated grownups. Please have Asriel take this slip to his parents and have them sign, or he will not be able to attend next week’s fieldtrip._ The first time it happened, he’d thought maybe his parents were trying a harebrained scheme to get him to talk to them. Now he knew it was just his teacher being an asshole to Frisk. Asriel didn’t even want to go to the stupid Aquarium anyway.

            Asriel closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

            Maybe if he could bury his fingers in the soil of his father’s garden, maybe then his crazy body would fall silent. Maybe he would just toss away the note and skip school the day of the trip.

            But that wouldn’t fix the real problem.

            When they were younger, Chara once told him that if they died, they wouldn’t mind be reincarnated at a part of him. _“Your heart, maybe,”_ they’d whispered, clutching his hand in the dark, after they shoved their beds together. _“Then, when you’re happy, you’ll know it’s me, being happy too. And when you die, we’ll be together again.”_

            It had sounded strange, even a little upsetting, but that was just Chara back then. Now he knew, knew how awful that reality was. Because it didn’t matter if he could talk to Chara at any moment, if they were never alone again, because the truth was simple.

            No matter how close they were now, Asriel would never hold Chara’s hand again in a late night when they’d shoved their beds together. They’d never press their mouths to each others’ ears and whisper secrets again. They’d never squish their sides together, put their faces cheek to cheek again.

            No matter how far Asriel stretched his hands, Chara would always be out of reach.

            Something loud and warm pressed itself against the top of his head. Blinking, Asriel lifted his head and saw the Siamese, Shadow Stalker, turning to press her flank against his head again. He chuckled and found the will to lift one hand and stroke her back. “Hey, you dumb thing. What do you want?”

            She purred, arching her back into the palm of his hand. He laughed and sat up, bracing himself against his elbows before he lowered himself back down and began to pet her. She flopped onto her side and let him run his hands down her side, purring all the time.

            Cats were funny creatures; they cared nothing for him when he wanted to play with them, and it was only once he ignored him that they wanted to come near. Chara had tried to explain it to him once that he’d been scaring the cats, but he’d been content to realize he just had to play hard to get them to play. Still, they also cared nothing for his problems, and only wanted him to do as they pleased.

            It should have been annoying, but their deceits were so simple, they only amused him.

            Stroking her side, he found that itchy feeling slowly vanishing and soon enough it was time for Frisk to come home. Asriel shifted to sit up properly so he dig out his homework, but paused.

            _Does Shadow Stalker look fat to you?_ he thought at Chara.

***You mean more so than usual?**

He grimaced. Shadow Stalker wasn’t a fat cat; he’d just about said as much to them when something shifted under Asriel’s hand. He froze and pulled his hand away. Looking down, they watched silently for a long while. Frisk came home and started to call to him when he shushed them. Finally, he saw it.

            Something inside Shadow Stalker _moved._

            “What’s wrong, bud?” Frisk asked, walking over to him.

            Frowning, he turned to them. “I think Shadow Stalker’s pregnant.”

            Sans shoved his head through the kitchen’s doorway. _“What?”_

 

 

 

            Shadow Stalker wasn’t the only one pregnant—turns out, Papyrus had never gotten any of the cats fixed. How they hadn’t been hip deep in kittens before then was a mystery, but by next fall, there were fourteen cats in total. Papyrus and Asriel fought tooth and nail to keep every single one of them, but in the end all but two kittens were sent to live with Asgore, who’d done the sensible thing and moved into a country house with a big barn once they’d officially rejoined humanity on the surface. Whenever they came to visit, if Papyrus were to sit on the grass, he’d be immediately swarmed with adoring cats.

            Frisk was doomed to wake up from naps, covered in eight cats, their face itchy and blotchy. Sans was doomed to chase cats around the neighborhood until ungodly hours of the morning, shaking cat treat bags in the vain hope it would draw them near. Papyrus was doomed to constant baths that always ended with at least two cats trying to climb into his chest cavity to escape him. Chara was doomed to being constantly followed by cats while Asriel had to constantly chase after them.

            And yet none of the really minded.

            Except for Sans. But there were always more spider donuts in the end, so he didn’t bother to complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell, I've own SEVERAL cats (actually, to be legit, I've probably owned upwards of forty cats--I had one cat that had nearly two dozen litters in her 9 years of life, all of them with at least three or more kittens, not that we kept them all). Frisk's allergy was actually something that happens to me, although I've grown out of it somewhat in recent years. I also had to hunt down a indoor cat that had escaped using cat treats. Word of warning, if you must give a cat a bath, make sure to trim their claws beforehand. Learn from my lessons, kids.
> 
> I can't claim ownership of Doom Fanger--that cat actually came from a voice over skit from Crashboombanger, which you can see the original post here: http://crashboombanger.tumblr.com/post/141568014192  
> And an animation of here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nh3OpvUpW7Q&ab_channel=lup  
> Doom Fanger also shows up in the unofficial Underfell game from ManiaKnight--this has nothing much to do with this story, I just think it's a fun game and that everyone should know about it, so here's a link to that too: http://gamejolt.com/games/UNDERFELL/196935#close
> 
> There's another comic I wanted to link here, but I'm having trouble finding it--it's a UF comic where Frisk accidentally kills a Temmie by hugging it and Fell!Papyrus congratulates with a hug as they cry, telling Sans he heard that positive reinforcement is good for children. If you happen to have a link, I'd love to have it so I can properly link it here. I'll probably find it by next week and post it at the end of that chapter, but all the same, if you have a copy, send it my way! (Even if it's only to a comic dub, that'd help since I can reverse search it.)
> 
> As for last week, I found a link I was missing then too. Sans respects people who are into teeth: http://patricklemorse.tumblr.com/post/144665707941/and-yet-i-make-his-smile-move-as-if-he-did-have
> 
> EDIT: The awesome Off_Balance happened to know what comic I was talking about and kindly sent me a link. Here it is now: http://anarchypuppet.deviantart.com/art/Pacifist-Underfell-576305337


	5. Just Breathe

            The first assassination attempt happened six months after the barrier came down, three after they all moved into the Ambassador’s House in New Home. Frisk and Asriel had only run down to the fish market to pick up something for supper. They’d only expected to be a few minutes, so they hadn’t thought to say anything to Sans or Papyrus—just left a note on Sans’ chest as he snoozed on the living room’s couch, a pair of cats sleeping curled up on his legs.

            They were already heading back to the House when Asriel paused to pick up something he’d found on the sidewalk. He showed them the large, slimy snail he’d found, grinning as Frisk laughed and scrunched their nose up at it. “We could take it to Toriel, but _I’m_ not eating that,” they’d said, and he’d been about to glower at them.

            Instead, Frisk jerked forward and blood splashed on him. He blinked, baffled for a moment as Frisk staggered before he realized there were five arrows of pure magic in their body—one in each shoulder, two in their chest, and one in their stomach. The arrows vanish as Frisk fell to their knees, shaking—the arrows hadn’t been a direct hit to their soul, but they were hanging on by a sliver. Later, he realized that it had been purposefully done that way; Frisk’s ability to bounce from death had been carefully accounted for.

            Someone in the crowds lining the sidewalks screamed and monsters tried to scatter in alarm. The Edict might have been gone, but fear lingered and none of them wanted to stick around. Inevitably, people ran into each other and it only created a clog as everyone tried to flee. It was pure chaos.

            ***Asriel! The attack came from the air—look up!**

            Asriel could see the monster archer looking down at them from the roof of a nearby building, but Asriel forced himself to look away as he dropped to his knees as well. He reached out and grabbed Frisk’s necklace—it was an alert charm, to let Sans know where they were, to warn of just this sort of thing. Asriel had one of his own, to call Papyrus, but at this moment he’d forgotten because it was Frisk who was hurt, Frisk who needed to be saved, so he crushed the charm in his fist with a scream.

            There was a few moments before there was a reaction and in that time Asriel looked up and saw the archer drawing their bow back again, another magical arrow on the string. It was pointed dead at him, aiming straight for his face, but he didn’t think of running away. He’d break himself in two before he left Frisk behind, although he felt a little guilty as Chara screamed in the back of his head.

            It wasn’t necessary. Before the arrow could fly a blizzard of red bones flew through the air. The assassin had to roll forward, off the building, to avoid the storm. They landed awkwardly on the street, but Sans was already there, throwing bones spears. The assassin dodged and weaved out into the middle of the road—there were no cars in the Underground, but bikes were popular, not that any cyclist was stupid enough to linger when the bullets started flying. There was nowhere to escape there though; the moment the assassin was in the open, they were instantly penned in by a thicket of sharpened bone spears aiming right at them.

            “You’ve seriously fucked up now,” Sans seethed, his attacks inching forward so close and tightly packed that they rattled off each other, making an awful racket.

            The assassin’s frame loosened, like they were giving up, but then they raised their head again. “Death to human-” They shouted a word so foul, Asriel flinched. “Death to the abomination! I won’t stand by as they spill poison in the king’s ears! Death to them both!”

            Asriel’s eyes widened. Him? _He_ was the abomination? What on earth was going on?

            ***Don’t listen to him, Az. He’s _crazy._**

            Sans gritted his teeth so tight, his jaw looked ready to crack. “Shut your mouth before I pin it shut with a bone through your jaw.”

            Frisk made a noise, making Asriel jump. He glanced down to see Frisk cough up a mouthful of blood. When they looked up at him, their teeth was red. “N-no death,” they wheezed.

            Asriel’s jaw dropped open, but then he flinched at a touch to the top of his head. A gentle hand pressed there; when he looked up it was Papyrus passing them by. He sent a pair of green bones into Frisk’s back. Frisk gasped as their health was restored a bit, but still they looked woozy. Reaching out to clutch their shoulders, Asriel lifted his head again. “Papyrus!” he cried.

            The skeleton paused to look back at him.

            “No killing, Papyrus!” he shouted, wrapping his arms around Frisk’s neck. “Don’t let Sans kill them.”

            ***It’ll be okay, Az. Papyrus is here. We’re safe now. Try to breathe.**

            He choked on his breath, but managed to obey. _I wish you were here right now._

***Me too.**

            Papyrus was silent but finally he nodded and then began to walk forward again. He walked to his brother, who was shaking in rage as assassin began to hurl insults at him and Frisk—something that sounded like “human fucker”, but Asriel wasn’t sure if that was aimed at Sans or Frisk. He paused just outside of arms reach from Sans. “Brother,” he said, voice tight with careful calculation. Sans twitched; Papyrus’ voice had reached him, cutting through the cloud of hate rolling off him. “Frisk needs your attention. I will handle _this.”_ His voice dripped with condescension as he turned to the assassin.

            Sans stood still for a long moment before he finally dropped his hand. Rather let his attack vanish, he waited until Papyrus had summoned his own storm of bones to encircle the zealot. Once Papyrus had his attack in place, Sans vanished from there to reappear next to Frisk.

            “Babe?” he asked, voice soft as he kneeled down. His eye burned brighter at the sight of the blood Frisk had lost and he reached out to clutch their arm.

            “I’m okay,” Frisk mumbled, wavering on the spot. Papyrus must have held back to keep his strength up, because they were trembling with the effort to stay upright. “Did you kill them?”

            Sans sighed, but his gaze softened. “No, babe. The bastard’s still living.”

            “Oh, good. Asriel?”

            “I’m okay,” he murmured, leaning forward. “Frisk, are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

            “Sure, I’m sure,” they muttered and then promptly slumped over onto Sans, unconscious.

            Asriel gasped, but Sans caught them and turned them over in his arms. Frisk’s front was soaked in blood and they looked pale, but at least they were still breathing. He paused to look up at the prince. “Sorry, kid, but I can’t carry two people and I need to get Frisk home so I can get something to heal them. I need you to stay put for a little bit.” He reached out to secure Frisk in his arms, but paused before he straightened, glancing guiltily back to Asriel. “The Guards will be here in a minute, so sit tight until then.”

            Asriel would have rather had eaten glass than stay there, but he forced himself to nod. He watched as Sans and Frisk flickered out of existence. Despite his horror, he couldn’t help but glance back down the street.

            The assassin saw the two leave and grinned manically.  “Good riddance to the human and its-” They never got a chance to finish.

            A bone spear neatly flew into their eye and went cleanly through. Asriel nearly threw up in his mouth as the assassin began to shriek and cry.

            ***Az. Look away.**

            Obediently, Asriel looked down, but the only thing before him was the splatter of Frisk’s blood on the sidewalk. He glanced towards the pavement beside him, tried to focus on the fresh coat of paint on the ground.

            Papyrus only glared at his captive. “Do not. Move.” After a moment, the assassin managed to freeze although their body trembled, much like Frisk’s had moments before. “Now, if you don’t want to lose that eye, you will stay very still. If you do move, I’ll put another bone through the other eye and then you won’t be seeing _anything._ Am I understood?”

            The assassin whimpered but stayed very still.

            “Papyrus! Your highness!”

            Asriel tore his eyes away from the ground to see Undyne and a pair of guards—a cat and a mantis monster—rush down the road to join them. Undyne gestured the mantis over to Asriel and then stalked over to Papyrus and his captive with her other crony. Asriel watched mutely as Undyne talked to Papyrus, the cat guard forming her own attacks to replace Papyrus’.

            “My prince?” the mantis guard asked, kneeling next to him. “Are you injured?”

            He blinked up at her. “Um. No, I… I’m okay.”

            She nodded. “My prince, I need to ask you a few questions. Can you tell me what happened?” Asriel stumbled through some answers, until the guard finally nodded. “That will do for now. Your body guard will take you home now and we’ll take it from here.” She paused and added, kindly, “Your parents will be informed of what’s happened. They’ll probably come see you shortly.”

            Numbly, he nodded. _I’m really not looking forward to that._

***I’ll talk to them if you want.**

He could have wept in relief. _Thanks, Chara._

            The sound of approaching footsteps caused him to look up. Papyrus walked over to him; the guard straightened and nodded to him before hurrying over to join her superior, not that Papyrus seemed to care much about her acknowledgement as he stopped just short of Asriel.

            Looking up at him, Asriel felt his stomach twist into a sickening knot. What did Papyrus think of him? He’d always liked Papyrus as much as he could like anyone as Flowey—he’d been a fairly safe monster to be around in comparison to everyone else. He’d said that he had faith that Flowey would be good for _something_ , but what must he think of him now? He’d froze under the threat of the assassin, only having sense enough to summon Sans. He hadn’t even thought to call for Papyrus.

            Embarrassed, he looked away, slumping.

            ***Asriel. It’s okay.**

_I’m such a coward, Chara._

            ***No, you are not.**

            After a moment, Papyrus knelt, startling Asriel. Once Asriel looked up, Papyrus offered him his hand. “My prince, let’s get going,” he murmured, his voice soft for once. “We need to see how Frisk is.”

            Asriel perked up but still he reluctantly took Papyrus’s hand and let Papyrus tug him up to his feet. Once he was up, he expected Papyrus to let go; instead, the skeleton only shifted his grip on his hand and kept walking. Rather than let himself be dragged away, Asriel picked up his pace, moving at a slow jog to keep up with Papyrus’s long legs. When he looked up at Papyrus, he could see Papyrus gazing steadfastly forward, chin up. Asriel lifted his own chin and kept his eyes forward, even as the assassin screamed insults after them. In his head, Chara tried to comfort him, but his own turmoil pushed Chara’s voice away.

            He managed to keep steady until they turned a corner. Once they were out of sight of the scene, a wave of revulsion nearly knocked Asriel off his feet. He misstepped and fell against Papyrus’ legs. He caught himself with his free hand, gripping Papyrus’s belt to keep from slipping, but once he had a grip, he found his knees only wanted to buckle more.

            ***Az!**

            “Asriel! Are you hurt?”

            Bile stung his tongue and made his eyes water, but Asriel forced himself to shake his head. All the same, he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Papyrus—his legs were too unsteady. _I’m sorry. You were right, I’m still a big baby,_ he thought to Chara, but he wasn’t even sure that the thought managed to reach them through his inner chaos.

            After a moment, Papyrus leaned down. Asriel half thought he was just going to untangle Asriel, but once he pried Asriel’s hand loose from his belt, he slid his arms under Asriel’s arms and lifted him up. Asriel blinked as he instinctively reached around Papyrus’s neck to clutch at his uniform, his legs wrapping around Papyrus’s middle as the skeleton shifted one arm under Asriel’s legs to support him. “I think it would be best if you just laid your head against my shoulder and closed your eyes, my prince. It won’t be a long walk home from here.”

            Asriel obeyed, although he closed eyes as much from shame as exhaustion. He tried to keep his mouth shut, but before he could stop them, a few sniffles escaped his mouth. Mortified, he waited for Papyrus to scold him, but there was nothing but silence. Asriel waited in agony, but instead Papyrus only shifted him to settle better into his arms.

            “You know, my prince,” Papyrus began, startling him. “It was good that you summoned Sans as fast as you had. Frisk was… in a bad spot.” He patted Asriel’s back. “Without a doubt, you did a good job.”

            Asriel shuddered and hid his face into the fabric of Papyrus’s bandana. “I didn’t do anything,” he groaned at last. “I just sat there like an idiot.”

            “Nonsense!” Papyrus shot back instantly. “You kept your head and summoned help quickly. You didn’t abandon Frisk either, even when it would have wise to do so. You didn’t even summon help for yourself first.”

            That made the prince wince.

            His hand pressed against Asriel’s spine, as if he could sink the words into Asriel physically, to press the words against his soul like a balm on a wound. “You were very brave and loyal. Frisk will be very pleased.”

            Asriel sniffed. “I wanted to throw up.”

            “Well,” Papyrus said after a moment. “The important thing is that you didn’t.”

            In spite of his nerves, Asriel smiled. “Thanks, Papyrus.”

            “You are very welcome, my prince.” He paused and then went on. “We still have a bit to walk. There’s time to… compose yourself if you need it.”

            Asriel closed his eyes and tried to ignore his thoughts to listen to Chara. His sibling did their best to soothe him and for awhile, Asriel’s stomach seemed to settle.

            At last, Papyrus unlocked the gate to the House and walked up the stoop to the front door. He didn’t put Asriel down as he stepped in, so Asriel kept his head down as Papyrus headed for the living room.

            “Asriel?” he heard Frisk call, but he was too embarrassed to turn his head. Besides, he had the strong feeling that Frisk was probably wrapped in Sans in that weird way the two clung to each other when they both got grabby and he had no urge to see that. “You okay, bud?”

            “Our prince is fine,” Papyrus announced, resettling Asriel’s weight again in his arms. “Just a little tired.”

            “I see,” Frisk murmured, voice soft and kind. “Asgore and Toriel have already called—they’ll be here in twenty minutes. You two might want to get cleaned up before they get here.”

            Asriel winced when he remembered he was still splattered with Frisk’s blood. He felt Papyrus’s nod.

            “I’ll go run a shower. Are, uh… you two going to need one?” he asked, voice awkward as he probably stared down at the two of them.

            “Yeah, but you go ahead. Just don’t take long ones, okay?”

            “Understood.” Papyrus turned and headed for the stairs. He climbed them swiftly, turning not for either of their bedrooms as he reached the top, but instead heading towards the bathroom. He opened the door and turned on the light before he finally set Asriel down.

            Despite the queasy feeling still rocking his stomach, this time his legs managed to stand up. Asriel took a deep breath and tried to straighten, but he paused as Papyrus knelt down.

            Eye to eye socket, Papyrus paused and reached out to run a hand over the top of Asriel’s head—the prince wasn’t sure if he was trying to comfort him or to comb through the tacky blood matting his fur. “I’ll go get you a change of clothes, okay? Take as long as you need.”

            Asriel frowned. “But Frisk said-”

            Papyrus shot him a flat look. “Frisk isn’t going to mind how long you take. And I just need to change clothes. Just… do what you need to.”

            Reluctantly, Asriel nodded. Before he stepped back, Papyrus patted his head, his face softening.

            “You probably think you were a coward today. But you weren’t. And I don’t think Frisk or Chara would disagree with me.”

            ***I don’t.**

Asriel closed his eyes to keep from crying and forced himself to nod.

            Papyrus ruffled his fur on the top of his head and stood. “Go clean up now.”

            “Okay,” he managed. He reached to shut the door, but after a moment’s hesitation, he surged forward and wrapped his arms around Papyrus’s waist. “Thanks. For everything.”

            A hand came down to gently pat the back of his head. Papyrus let him hug him for a long minute before he carefully pulled him away. “You did well. Go wash.”

            Nodding, Asriel turned and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t intend to take long in the shower, but he did need to hurry to get the blood out of his fur before it turned pink for weeks. When he was done, he’d gratefully handed control over to Chara—they could handle their parents better than he could. But for now, he just climbed into the stream of warm water and focused on breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LiliaNox requested a badass Papyrus protecting Asriel and Chara, but I think it came more out _scary_ Papyrus protecting Asriel and Chara who then comforts them. Whoops. I do plan to do the other part of their request, a more fun Big Brother!Papyrus, but that'll be a later chapter. I hope this suffices for now.
> 
> An odd thought I had a few days ago: you know what I find really funny for silly reasons? In the epilogue of The World, Upside Down I mentioned that there were a bunch of kids running around the castle, making racket. No one has ever called me out by asking just who the hell these kids are or who their parents are. Did Asgore and Toriel have more? Did they adopt some stray orphans? Are they Undyne and Alphys'? Are they Sans or Papyrus'? Who knows. Anyway.


	6. Dead Men Tell No Tales

            Someone mowed the grass recently, clipped it down to a neat height, and manicured the wild nature out of it to create a poor facsimile of a forest clearing. The trees surrounding everything muffled the sounds of traffic, but more importantly, hid the sight of the gravestones from the road. Walking through the tidy rows, Frisk frowned at the orderly setting and thought back to the organic, cramped graves that surrounded their mother’s grave back home. In that graveyard, the stones stood shoulder to shoulder, like a merry group of revelers, watching the world go by, sharing stories and sights of every visitor that came. Perhaps that was because Frisk had visited it most often on the Day of the Dead, festooning their mother’s grave with garlands of marigolds and lighting the candles that would burn through the night, showing their mother’s soul the way back to her grave.

            Their father’s grave, on the other hand, sat alone in the carefully regimented gap between its neighbors, as if it was afraid it’d be contaminated if one of them touched it. It was little more than a short stone with a plaque on it. Crouching down, they read the name on it, idly reaching out to trace the name with their finger. After a moment, they grunted in irritation and pulled their hand away. “Tch. Even your name is irritating.”

            Glancing away, they distracted themselves by digging a cigarette pack and a lighter out of a pants pocket. After getting one out and lit, they shoved the pack and lighter back into their pocket and settled in to gaze at their father’s headstone.

            Reading the dates on the stone, they were annoyed to realize that he’d outlived Frisk’s mother by nearly twenty years. Their beautiful mother, bright, energetic, courageous to the last was outlived by this useless waste of space for just shy of twenty years. Their mother had campaigned to change life, argued the cases of the innocent and the victimized, mended hearts, and saved lives with her own hands—and had been outlasted by a schmuck, this never-had-been musician who lived out his last years with a failing garage only to earn a mediocre rating on Yelp.

            Life really wasn’t fair, but then Frisk wasn’t sure if death was much better.

            Sighing through their nose, they hugged their legs to their chest and glared over the tops of their knees. “Twenty years and you still manage to elude me. Did you die just to spite me, to make sure I never contacted you in my own time?”

            Frisk tapped their cigarette off to the side before taking another long drag. “I met your family. Well, the wife and the kids. They seemed… surprisingly sweet? How on earth did you convince them that you were ever worth their time anyway?”

            Exhaling out their nose so that two plumes of smoke shot out, Frisk considered their words. “They showed me the newspaper clippings. I’d be impressed if I weren’t a little creeped out. What were you doing with those things? Were you… keeping tabs on me? Trying to find blackmail material?”

            Their frown deepened. “Or was it out of some misplaced fatherly concern?”

            The question hung in the air, thickening it with tension until Frisk at last snorted more smoke out their nostrils. “If it was, it’d just go to show how unfair you really were—if you had any sort of decency, you would have reached out to me. Now I can’t even have the satisfaction of rejecting you in person.”

            The bitter words stung as they left their lips, but the barb only hovered helplessly in the air without a target to aim at. Finally, Frisk glanced away from the stone. “Your kids, they told me that you never said a word about me—they just thought you had this weird interest in the ‘liberator of monsters’. Don’t know how they didn’t see the resemblance—but then, maybe they’re dim as you are. Were. You were the one who’d said that I couldn’t be yours in a room full of people despite, you know, have a damn near identical face as mine. Just who did you think you were fooling back then?”

            Again, no answers. In spite of themselves, Frisk glared as they realized that they _had_ been expecting something more out of this talk. Not his spirit popping out of his grave to address their words, but more like some big revelation that would have cleared up some of the cloud of confusion. Maybe a touching realization or at least definitive feeling to cement his old distaste for them, some clue to reveal why he acted the way he had.

            The grave was silent, the air thick, and Frisk was more irritated than ever. Grumbling to themselves, Frisk stood although not before grinding out the cigarette butt into his name on the plaque. After giving his marker one last look, they turned and stalked away, gleefully crushing the perfect grass under their feet as they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember back in chapter one, Frisk talked to Asriel and Chara about their own father? Well, here's a small scene, exploring that relationship more. By the way, I don't know if I ever flat out said this before but Frisk is a Latin@ in this story--actually, it's more complicated than that, but that's what they identify as more so than anything else.
> 
> Their father's name is Paul Goodnow, btw. Their mother's was Maria Cristina Prado and she was a lawyer with a heavy slant towards cases dealing with helping the underprivileged and downtrodden. Frisk thought the world of her.


	7. The Battle Wages On...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is late. It ran long and I finally made the decision to just go ahead and post part of it now.
> 
> Continuity might be a little off in this one; I've been going back through The World, Upside Down to edit it, so I picked out some of the more glaring errors, but if you note one, tell me please.
> 
> Also, WARNING for minor substance abuse in this chapter--kids, drink your caffeine responsibly okay?

            Sometimes, Alphys could remember a time when she was not the Royal Scientist—not when she was young, but _before_. Before what, she wasn’t sure, but she knew it had something to do with her old boss and Sans, but the details were all muddled in her brain. In those moments that she did remember though, she knew that she had enjoyed not having all those burdens thrust upon her; that was her boss’s job to worry about, not her.

            But her predecessor no longer existed outside the few odd mentions in the blue prints and notes he left behind, and it was not her job to worry about them. (Not that she could; everything about her old boss seemed to _want_ her to forget.) Firstly, the most important problem was trying to find a way to destroy the barrier. Why they bothered her to try to keep looking when Asgore already had three souls and they knew that you had to have a human AND monster soul to get through was beyond her, but she at least had to pretend to keep searching. Then there was trying to find away to do something to halt the dwindling number of monsters from falling down; she also knew there was no way to fix that outside of repealing the Grand Edict “The Strong Survive”, but _eh_ what did _she_ know—she was _only_ a scientist. Third on her ever constant list was a bit more interesting to ponder over: reviving the healing magic.

            To be fair to Asgore, he probably hadn’t realized what a dire effect the “Kill or be Killed” Law would have on monsters when it came to healing magic, but the problem was very simple. A monster with low empathy was naturally awful at healing, even if it was for the ones they loved. Monsters with high Levels of Violence had _very_ low empathy. A frightful amount of monsters had already lost their ability to heal, even the ones who’d been very proficient before the Law—Alphys once pondered asking Asgore if he could still heal but then quickly decided that was a Bad Idea. So far, she hadn’t found much to do to help it, other than recommend a boost to the baking sectors of the economy to create more healing items.

            For the time being it left a more immediate problem; there was a serious shortage of healers in the Underground. So, despite the fact she was not a medical doctor, some idiot always called her for healing—which was especially stupefying as she’d never been good at healing in the first place.

            When the call came from Asgore himself, though, she didn’t dare try to grumble about not being _that_ kind of doctor. When she reluctantly arrived at the castle, she carried a box of spider donuts she’d picked up along the way with the hope that it’d be enough to handle whatever injuries her stupid patient had inflicted on themselves.

            Carrying the box into the medical room, she paused outside the door. Inside, the distinct voice of Asgore yelling at someone stopped her dead in her tracks. He was yelling something about someone doing their job before he found some else to do it for them. Alphys half expected that he would kill whoever it was on the spot—with any luck, it’d be her would-be patient and she’d be able to go back to her lab and far from Asgore’s sight.

            The door, however, flew open and nearly smacked her. Alphys scrambled out of the way and then dropped into a bow. “Sire, I came as soon as I could.”

            “Doctor. Your patient is inside,” he said, voice sending ice down her spine. “See to it that you return her to good health swiftly. An injured servant does me no good.”

            “Yes, sir,” she murmured, mind racing as he swept past her. The Overlord’s Enforcers had less than two dozen members, only six of which were women, and she knew only five of them were actually stationed near to the palace. And there was only one Enforcer that Asgore would come down to personally yell at and not immediately kill. She waited until he turned the corner before she slipped into the room, clutching the box in both of her shaking claws.

            Stepping in, Alphys’s breath caught in her throat and she tried not to gawk. Undyne, Captain of the Enforcers, the Mightiest Warrior in the Underground, was sitting on a cot with an spear buried into her shoulder. Thankfully, the spear had not gone clear through, but it was a physical spear, not a magical one like Undyne wielded—this spear wasn’t going to vanish any time soon. Especially since the spear was pinning her breastplate in place—she or someone else had tried to get the armor off, but the breastplate was stuck, so she’d only managed to get her arms free.

            Undyne, face drawn in a furious scowl, looked up at her and blinked. “Donuts?”

            Alphys, ever eloquent, squeaked.

            Perhaps it made her look like an idiot and therefore mostly harmless, but the noise prompted a twitch from Undyne’s lips. Alphys had no idea if that meant Undyne thought she was a coward or if she found it endearing; knowing her luck, the greatest warrior in the Underground probably saw her as little better than pond scum. Worse, probably—Undyne lived in Waterfall. She probably _liked_ pond scum.

            Most of the fury drained out of her face. “That’s fucking brilliant actually. ‘bout time someone came here to fix me up.”

            _Holy fuck,_ Alphys thought.

            “First though, I need you to get the spear out.”

            Well, yeah, of course she did—fat lot of good healing items would do if it just tried to heal the wound shut around the spear. The wind knocked out of her sails neatly, Alphys shuffled forward and sat the box aside so she could pull out her phone and access her inventory. She scanned through her items—she’d illegally expanded her inventory using some shaky science and the fact that no one was ever going to bother to check her phone, so she had a hell of a selection to look through. She found the small saw she’d been looking for and drew it out, but paused as she turned to Undyne.

            Undyne regarded her with a bland look—she’d expected an impatient sneer, maybe a grimace of pain, but the warrior looked more bored by her wound than even inconvenienced. Later, she’d know that Undyne had learned enough patience not to fight the person trying to fix her—she’d learn that after Undyne would lose her eye and six more Enforcers. Still, that was the future and right now she was more worried that Asgore’s most powerful warrior was going to turn her into a pin cushion.

            “T-t-th,” she stuttered, claws shaking as she tried to settle the tool into her hand. God, what an idiot she sounded like! She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “This’ll… it’ll hurt.”

            Undyne narrowed her eyes at the doctor. “Figured. Let’s get this over with.”

            Alphys blinked, shocked that she hadn’t been slapped around just for bearing the bad news. Somehow, she managed to find nerve enough to steady her hand and cut into the shaft—the saw protested when she struck the lead core of the spear, and Undyne hissed in pain, her knee jumping up and nearly smacking into Alphys’ arm. Panicked, Alphys jerked back with her saw. “Sorry!” she squeaked before she could stop herself and then froze.

            Undyne gaped at her, brows knit in confusion. “Did you just… _apologize?”_

            _Fuck_ , Alphys thought in pure agony. As if polite manners meant anything in this world besides showing yourself as an easy target. So instead, she stammered some nonsense and switched the saw for one of her laser cutters, which promptly killed its batteries, but got the job done.  She hadn’t cut too close to the wound, but at least Undyne could finally get her armor off. Alphys had to help her carefully navigate the jagged metal over the shaft of the spear’s remains, but the moment it was off, Undyne dropped it to the ground with a relieved sound.

            For a moment, while Undyne had her eyes closed and she sucked in a breath of air, Alphys took that moment to greedily drink in the sight of her. Undyne was all wry muscle, but muscular she was indeed—she had biceps hard as rocks and thighs that could probably crush Alphys’s skull.

            (It’d be a great way to go, Alphys decided.)

            Her face was nice too—good bone structure, very symmetrical. If Alphys took an axe to Undyne’s skull, her face would be two matching halves. Her colors were striking, red and blue and the yellow of her eyes as she stared at Alphys

            Staring at Alphys. _Aw hell, now she caught me staring._ The doctor nearly dropped her laser cutter as she quickly stuffed it back into her inventory and ransacked the medical cabinets. “Uh—um—how did you get injured?” she gasped, trying to avoid Undyne’s piercing stare but then winced when she heard her own question ringing in her head. _For being a scientist, I sure am an idiot._

            At least Undyne looked away, her knee jerking to a fast rhythm. “Had to deal with some insubordination. Doge got a little big for her britches and thought she could claim the title of Captain if she ambushed me.”

            Alphys nearly dropped the bottle of saline solution she’d found; of course she’d heard of the stories of the backstabbing and infighting that went on in the Enforcers, but there was nothing reassuring about hearing the Captain admit as much. The last thing the Underground needed was loose cannons running around causing trouble with the power of the crown behind them. “You took care of it?”

            She grinned, mouth full of too many sharp teeth, but only for a moment. “I’m going to have to open tryouts for a new guard position.” She grimaced, as though the idea was distasteful. But then, Alphys hadn’t met Papyrus yet, so it wasn’t like she understood. “Maybe I’ll only pick replacements from the New Home area.”

            The last comment didn’t sound as if it was aimed at her in particular, but Alphys still nodded so she didn’t offend Undyne on the off chance. She walked over with her supplies and set them aside. “W-we need to clean the wound. We can either use this stuff,” she said holding up one bottle, “to flush out anything that got into the wound, but it won’t heal you directly, so if we don’t hurry, you could bleed out. Or,” she sat that bottle down and picked up another, faintly glowing bottle. “We can use raw healing magic to cauterize the wound _and_ flush it out. It’ll feel like I poured battery acid into the wound, but it’ll keep you from bleeding out. Once the spear’s out, then you can eat the donuts an-and it’ll seal up the wound properly.”

            Undyne considered it and then made an expression that was half sneer, half smirk. “Gimme the battery acid.”

            _She’s so fucking cool,_ Alphys thought, before she could remind herself to focus. Setting the rest of the stuff aside, Alphys grabbed the cauterizing agent and got to work.

            Getting the spear and its head out was one of the most draining experiences Alphys had ever suffered through in her life, not that far after the grueling interviewing process she went through to get her job. But back then, she had expected her old boss to waste his time stabbing her if she screwed up; nowadays, she knew he had bigger fish to fry than her as long as she at least made it sound like she was doing work. Undyne had to yank the spear out herself in the end and Alphys had been so entranced, she nearly forgot to pour the raw magic in until Undyne hissed.

            After she finished pouring the magic, she paused to see if it would do its job. It did, neatly cleaning the wound with an eerie hissing noise. She backed away, not even daring to presume to ask Undyne if she wanted help sitting up. While Undyne pulled herself upright, Alphys scurried to the box and opened it to offer her the contents. Without a word, the warrior yanked out a donut with each hand and fell on them ravenously. It took four donuts, but finally the skin finished knitting together, leaving Undyne to idly lick the frosting off a fifth one. She grunted, prodding at the new scar. “Well, at least I don’t have a hole in me anymore.”

            It was as close to a thank you as Alphys had ever gotten. Alphys fiddled with her phone to find the old medical diagnostic program she’d made on a whim at four in the morning after she made the grave error of drinking a cup of her old boss’s ‘wake-up coffee’, a horrifying concoction involving something called ‘Turkish Coffee’, crushed up caffeine pills, over brewed Sea Tea, and several table spoons of sugar. It had left her with heart palpitations, wild hallucinations, and an entire month’s workload finished before the workday had even begun. She distinctly remembered that Sans had to chase her off one of the machines with a broom because she was trying to rip it apart to replace its batteries—which it didn’t have, since it ran off the secondary electrical circuit—and kept shrieking at him like an offended squirrel. That was about all she remembered before she curled up in the middle of the floor, crying because the ants were eating her eardrums. But she did still have the diagnostic program; that and a nifty little picture of her, sobbing on the floor, with ‘Employee of the Month’ stamped at the bottom.

            Finally, the program loaded up. She clicked a button and then turned to Undyne. “Um, U-Un… uh, Captain? Would you hold this for a second?”

            Undyne shot her a baffled look before cautiously taking the phone. “If you hadn’t just spent all that time trying to heal me, I wouldn’t be-” The phone beeped. With a choked curse, she tossed the phone at the scientist.

            Luckily, Alphys caught the phone. Unluckily, when looked up, there was a legion of magic spears pointing directly at her from every angle. _So, this is how I die,_ she thought as Undyne slipped off the medical bed. Then the phone made a series of three beeps and finally a chime.

            “What. The hell. Was that,” Undyne ground out through gritted teeth.

            “J-j-ju-ju-j-juh,” she tried. _Man, I didn’t even get to ask her for an autograph before I died._ “A program! For diagnostics.”

            Undyne blinked and the spears retreated a few inches. “Oh. Fuck, you could have _warned_ me.” She grimaced. “Do you know how many times someone’s handed me a bomb?”

            “Uh,” Alphys mumbled. “No?”

            The Enforcer rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say it was more than once. So,” she frowned again, looking at the phone, “what did it say.”

            There was not a damn thing she could do against all those spears, so she forced herself to look down at the display on her phone. At first, it all looked exactly as she would have expected. Undyne’s Hit Points read as nearly three fourths full, along with her magical reserves, an impressive trick considering all the spears she currently had pointing at Alphys. The wound itself was reading as healed—while it might have left an ugly scar, the muscle was knitting back together without any complications. It was when she looked at the recovery rate that she noticed it.

            Most monsters could recover a certain amount of hit points for every point a recovery item could yield, meaning that for something like a Spider Donut, a normal monster should get about one hundred hit points, as compared to a human which seemed to top out at about a dozen hit points. Undyne, on the other hand, had only acquired about half of that. After eating four—four and a half now, since she was still chewing on the fifth—she should have been fully restored. Alphys hadn’t thought much of her hunger, since she herself often overate after a healing, but she’d been wrong.

            “…doc?”

            A recovery rate at nearly half a normal healthy monster. But there was no sign of physical ailments in the readouts, no lingering status spell to slow the rate. So.

            The one thing Alphys could think of. Diminished recovery rates despite high Hit Points. And Undyne had some very high Levels of Violence.

            Undyne, Captain of the Overlord’s Enforcers, perhaps second strongest of all monsters.

            Was losing hope.

            * _Snap!*_

            Alphys jumped and looked up.

            Undyne was frowning down at her, fingers still posed from where she snapped them seconds before to get her attention; at least she dismissed the storm of spears. “Don’t ignore me, or the next time I’ll shove the phone down your throat.”

            “Sorry,” she squeaked impulsively before she groaned and grimaced at herself. “The—the data shows you’re healing slowly.”

            Undyne frowned. “Well, that’s nothing new. Does it tell you why?”

            Alphys blinked—this was a _chronic_ problem?—and then shook her head. “I-I, uh, would have to do a more in-depth test for that. But, in the mean time…” Try to cheer up? What the hell do you even say to that? She wasn’t a medical doctor, and yet here she was, looking at a patient and knowing that their time was already limited. The thought rattled her and she found herself gesturing awkwardly to the rest of the donuts. “Take the rest of the donuts. Keep them in you inventory for… emergencies.”

            There was a momentary pause before Undyne at last shrugged and turned to the box, slipping each one into her inventory as she kept one eye on Alphys, just to make sure she wouldn’t try anything.

            For her part, Alphys could only stare blankly. One of the greatest warriors their kingdom had ever known, standing before her right now, and she would probably be dead before the barrier fell. If all that footage she’d seen of Undyne was anything to go by, perhaps if she’d been alive during the war all those centuries ago, maybe the tide could have been changed. Maybe monsters would be out in the world already, basking in the sun or at least slaughtering their enemies. When the barrier fell, she would be needed then, to lead the armies as Asgore’s General.

            But she would be dead before then.

            _If,_ a steady voice spoke in the recesses of her mind, _only if I don’t find something to change that in the meantime._

            Alphys blinked and looked down at the discarded breastplate, an idea germinating in her mind. “Your armor’s useless now.”

            Undyne froze, turning to glare at her, but then she noticed that Alphys’ attention wasn’t even on her. She’d be insulted if it wasn’t so strange. “Yeah, it’s toast. What of it?”

            “Would you like me to make you a new set?”

            The words were out of her mouth before she even had time to register she was even thinking them. Undyne stared again, although this time Alphys couldn’t help but note that there was more interest than suspicion this time. “You make armor?” It almost didn’t sound so sarcastic when she said it, although Alphys wasn’t foolish enough to think there wasn’t at least some there.

            Alphys nearly squeaked again but she caught herself in time. “I-it is one of my duties.” Outfitting the Royal Guard had always been part of the Royal Scientist’s job, just never an important one—it probably about sixteenth on her list of priorities. That hadn’t changed when the Royal Guard became the Enforcers. If Asgore found out about it, she’d probably be a grease stain on the floor.

            But she could call it an experiment—trying to see if she could raise the hope of a monster, if it would restore their recovery rate. If she could do that, if maybe she could replicate the results again, she could even see the other effects—low recovery rates eventually ate into a monster’s Hit Points anyway. It was what had happened to Sans—she remembered him, younger and with a couple hundred Hit Points. Now, he only had five the last she heard, not that she heard much of him anymore, just a few passing mentions in the sentry reports coming out of Snowdin; it was a wonder he hadn’t fallen down yet. _Yes._ Sell it to Asgore as a way to strengthen his people, get them ready to start taking hits again. Save his greatest warrior if nothing.

            And it’d be nice to be useful for once.

            “Fine.”

            Alphys blinked and looked up in time to see Undyne kick the breastplate across the floor to skid to a halt at her feet. “F-fine?”

            “Yeah, it’s useless to me now anyway.” She drew the rest of her armor back out of her inventory and dumped it onto the medical bed. “Contact the armory for specific measurements, but here’s this stuff if that’s easier.” She paused to fix Alphys with a pointed stare. “I won’t take time out of my schedule for measuring.”

            Won’t give her the chance to choke her with a tape measure more like it. Still. “Of course not. That’ll work.”

            “Good.” She paused, as if she was considering something before she reached over and grabbed the box of donuts. “Thanks. For uh. Everything.”

            It was Alphys’ turn to stare now.

            She nodded and then raised a donut like a salute. “Later, doc.”

            Alphys waited until she left to sag against the nearest available surface, in this case a gurney. _“Holy shit,”_ she wheezed, clutching her lab coat. “I just did that.”

            She paused and then clapped her claws around her jaw to trap the hysterical giggles bubbling up. It took her a moment, but once she had a façade of control, she straightened up and smoothed out her coat. Only once she was suitably faking her way into respectability—which in this case meant she looked ready to shank the first idiot who crossed her—did she collect the armor into her inventory and then open the door and leave.

 

 

 

            Making armor wasn’t exactly a hobby of hers, but it hadn’t actually fallen that far out of her area of expertise. A suit of armor wasn’t that far off from building the outer plating of a robot, really. After all, she’d built Mettaton a durable body for a reason, not that that little shit appreciated the hard work she’d put into his body, the ingrate. She wasn’t strong, but her magic and her tools were enough to mold metal to what she required. She didn’t have unlimited resources, but there was plenty of good metal to work with, stuff that wouldn’t puncture from a damn spear at least.

            The problem, she admitted to herself, was lack of inspiration. If she wanted to make a plain set of armor, she’d able to do it after a few days of hard work and magic. But what good would an ordinary set of armor really do for Undyne in the long run? She could get regular armor anywhere; it’d do nothing to raise her Hope.

            It had to be special. But what the hell did someone like Undyne even need? Well, besides the obvious. The only thing she could think of would be cameras so she could look out the back of her helmet so she could avoid sneak attacks. But even that sounded dumb to her sleep deprived brain at five thirty in the morning when she was crushing up caffeine pills into her Sea Tea, because she’d lost control of her life.

            There was, however, an obvious remedy, one that _did_ sound brilliant to her over caffeinated brain at six in the morning. Before her anxiety could team up with her rationality and stop her, she grabbed some sketches she made and headed straight up to the Enforcers main branch. Her tweaked out appearance kept away the desperate monsters who would usually try to start stuff with any passerby and she marched straight into the castle, right up to the hall where training sessions took place, and looked around.

            Her brain—still running a mile a minute—perked up when she spotted the familiar red hair flashing like the tail of a war banner in the breeze but then paused when she spotted one of the Enforcers—a foul looking critter that was mostly teeth—trying to sneak up behind Undyne, knife in hand. It wasn’t even a full week and they were already trying to assassinate the Captain again.

            _This will not do,_ her brain announced and she found she already had her hand cannon out and aiming. The cannon ran by siphoning her battle magic out of her and using it to power the attack; she’d never been a strong fighter nor had her bullets ever had much of a bite until she had the cannon to compensate for her. The blast nearly rocked her back off her feet, but her tail pressed against the floor steadied her. The Enforcer didn’t see the blast coming and went flying straight into a wall. She grunted when she saw the attack hadn’t killed him, just left him stunned and smoking as he lay in a heap, slumped over at the foot of the wall. “Eh. Need to rec-calibrate this again.”

            There was a small lull of silence as Alphys’ brain got lost trying to chase the train of thought, following it like a white rabbit. She was so distracted, when she first heard the clapping she nearly jumped a good inch off the ground.

            Undyne didn’t bother to stop clapping though. She looked at the smoking body with an appreciative smile. “Holy shit, doc, that’s some impressive hardware you got there.” Her grin widened as something glittered in her eyes. “If that’s the kind of thing you make, then I’m really interested to see what this armor’s going to be like.”

            Twenty ideas shot through Alphys’ mind, most of them she would later dismiss as being impractical, but she did save the idea of replacing some of Mettaton’s with supped up versions of her hand cannon when she got around to creating his more humanoid form. Somehow she got her tongue unstuck from the roof of her mouth to speak. “Th-this is just a p-prototype. It still needs work.” She blanched as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “Not that I’d give you some unfinished thing like this. I—I’ll make sure it’s working properly.”

            Undyne raised her brows. “Ah. Good to know.” She paused, frowning as she walked forward to stand closer to Alphys. “But, just so you know, I was well aware of what he was doing.” She glared. “I don’t need people stepping into my way during a fight, got it?”

            She made _some_ kind of noise in the back of her throat, but not even she was sure what it meant. “I—I just didn’t want him wasting the time I could use talking to you.”

            The Enforcer snorted, but she only shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Uh, Al, you okay? Your eye’s,” she paused and gestured to her own left eye, “twitching.”

            “Eh,” Alphys grunted before she could stop herself. “Um! I haven’t slept yet.” Her tail smacked against the ground, unbidden. “Trying to get work done.”

            Instead of scoffing at her, like she expected, Undyne only grinned. “Working? Good to see someone putting some passion into their work.” She glared over her shoulder to see her lackey groaning on the ground. “Unlike some useless ingrates around here that you have to lead around by the nose.”

            Alphys snickered, thinking of Mettaton, but when Undyne looked back at her, her amusement died. “…good help is hard to find nowadays?” she offered.

            She chuckled; Alphys took a step back as she summoned a spear, but it wasn’t aimed in the scientist’s direction. Undyne pointed it at the downed minion and sent it flying at his head. It struck the wall just above him, but he still yelped and jerked. “That’s for damn sure. Get up, you idiot! You’re not paid to lie around, and if I catch you there for one more second, I’m going to put this spear straight down your throat-” Before she could finish, he’d picked himself and scrambled away. “Go do your patrol, but don’t you dare think I’m going to let this end here!” Once he vanished out of sight, she gave a satisfied grunt and turned back to Alphys. “So, doc, are you here for something in particular or what.”

            _How does she always manage to make her questions sound like challenges and not questions?_ “Nn, I’m here to t-talk to you about the armor. See if you had anything in mind you’d like added.”

            She raised an eyebrow. “What like design or like weapons?”

            “Either. Both,” she blurted. “U-um, or things that you think would be useful that you might not have thought to ask for before.”

            Undyne looked past her; not putting Alphys out of her line of sight, but still not wholly focused on her either. “Useful stuff? What, like a camera in the back of my helmet so I can see if someone’s sneaking up on me?”

            Alphys nearly choked on a giggle. “Too impractical—the helmet would be huge and heavy.”

            She nodded. “Yeah, probably.” She scratched idly at her neck, still thinking. “Hmm. Something I might not have asked for before, huh.”

            Alphys could slowly feel her stomach start to cramp; she had too much caffeine in her system and not enough real food. She was going to have to hurry this up or she was going to end up on the floor, whimpering and vulnerable in a dangerous place to be so. “Maybe like extra articulation points or elbow blades or vents if it gets too stuffy or-”

            Undyne’s head snapped back to her. “Stuffy? Hey, that’s something.” She raised her hand and held up at ceramic jar she summoned from her inventory. She yanked the stopper out and showed the contents to Alphys. “See that? It’s mud from Waterfall. Me and a few other of the guards use it to keep cool, especially in Hotland.” That made sense—Waterfall’s waters were saturated with magic and since there was water everywhere there, it seeped into the ground as well, leaving the earth itself with some unique qualities. “Problem is, it rubs off super easy, especially if you get sweaty. I go through three jars a day if I have to work in Hotland. So, if you could, I dunno, find a way to keep the armor cold, that’d be great.”

            Alphys blinked. “Climate control?”

            “Yeah, sure that. Can you do it?”

            She considered it—it would make the armor heavier, but she could also redistribute the weight around in ways that wouldn’t through her balance off, and would make the extra weight less noticeable. She’d have to use a lighter metal, something that could be durable but not heavy. It would even the weight out better, but that limited what materials she could use.

            So. A challenge. And one that wasn’t impossible to solve. That’d be a nice change of pace.

            “Climate controlled. Not too heavy.” She paused, thinking. “Perhaps a wider visor, so your eyesight won’t be limited when someone tries to sneak up behind you.”

            Undyne snorted. “That’d work.”

            “Got it. Give me a week.”

            Undyne frowned. “A week? Is that enough time?”

            Alphys paused. “…do you need it sooner?”

            “Ah, no. I got armor I can use in the meantime, but, uh,” she stopped and then raised her hand, like she was going to wave her off. “Don’t push yourself too hard. Passion for your craft is good and all, but don’t let it get in your way of taking care of yourself. Sleep’s important.”

            She almost said that sleep was for the weak, but then her insides started to churn—a bad sign if there was one. She needed to leave, and fast. “I’ll remember that. I’ll be fine. See you in a week.”

            Undyne blinked and shook her head. “Take care of yourself, doc. Later.”

            Her instincts yelled when she turned her back to the guard—never leave your back open, her parents had drilled into her—but she left as quickly as she could. She left so fast, she missed the surprise look Undyne gave her to see her leave her back vulnerable. The fish monster snorted in amusement and turned to go back to her own work.

 

 

 

            Alphys drew up the designs by the next morning and a heart palpitation from all the caffeine in her system. She had to sleep a straight ten hours and nearly missed her chance to talk Undyne. She managed to catch the Captain before she left the castle. Stepping into a side room, she showed the designs to Undyne and watched the Captain’s face damn near light up.

            “This,” she said with a widening smirk as she grabbed the paper from Alphys’ hands, “is going to be _wicked.”_ She turned to Alphys, eyes gleaming. “So, when are you getting started? When do you need to take my measurements?”

            Alphys paused and considered reminding Undyne that she had told Alphys that she wouldn’t take time out of her schedule for any measuring or fitting. But, maybe she’d changed her mind when she got interested at the design.

            It did mean she’d get to get right up close and personal with Undyne’s personal space. Alphys’ glasses promptly fogged up, but she did get out her measuring tape and found enough scraps of dignity left to not completely ogle Undyne’s muscles as she took her measurements.

            It took the rest of the week to make the armor, but when she handed it over to Undyne, it was utterly worth it. When Undyne stepped into the lab to pick up the armor—Alphys had even went so far as to clear a path in the trash and turn off her traps (or at least some of them) for the Captain—her face shone. She gawked at her new armor and then began to happily examine every inch, asking Alphys questions at each detail. The scientist took it as a chance to preen. By the time Undyne actually put the armor on, Alphys was nearly swaying with the effort to not start dancing in victory.

            “This is perfect,” Undyne cackled as she accepted her helmet. “Oh, it’s already a hundred times better than my old armor. You’re a miracle worker.”

            Alphys beamed and clasped her hands behind her back to hide their shaking. “I-it’s not much, but I hope it’ll do.”

            “Not much?” she snorted. “If this is ‘not much’, doc, I’m going to have to come back to you again for the next time I need armor just so I can see what you can really do. No, this is great. Thanks, doc.”

            Alphys froze. Asgore had most certainly never shown her gratitude for any of her creations—Mettaton certainly hadn’t. Nor had anyone else. And now, this was the second time Undyne had thanked her. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

            “Well, I guess I get to have the first test run now. I’ll stop by later, doc, tell you how it was for the day. Til later,” she shouted over her shoulder as she left.

            Dazed, Alphys raised a hand in a small wave. “Til later,” she mumbled. It took her a good two minutes for the words to sink in. When it did, she clutched her burning face and began to mutter “oh my god” until it became a mantra all its own.

 

 

 

            The Fourth Soul fell into the Underground two months after Alphys had designed Undyne’s first suit of armor. Since then, it seemed like every two weeks Undyne would show up at her lab, ruined armor in hand. Sometimes she came coated with dust; Undyne didn’t talk much during those meetings, but usually Alphys could draw some semblance of emotion from her. Amusement or at least bemusement, but sometimes there was something Alphys couldn’t name, wasn’t sure if she’d ever even have the courage to try to name it.

            When the alarms went off that a human had exited the Ruins, when word came from Snowdin that a human had already killed a few monsters, when Undyne went to meet it in Waterfall, she wore the new armor that Alphys had only just given to her two days before.

            Somehow, the Soul slipped past her in the confusing marshes of Waterfall and nearly made it to Hotland. Alphys had already shut down the elevators and the lab’s entrance to corral it in place, but Undyne caught up to it before it got to the passage into Hotland. Alphys watched, chewing first on her claws and then onto her knuckles as she watched Undyne fight the little cowboy wannabe. She forced herself not to notice how young the human looked—hadn’t all the other Souls been young too? That hadn’t saved them either.

            Finally, Undyne zipped in and slammed her spear against its skull. It fell limply to the ground and didn’t stir. The Enforcer and Scientist both looked at the Soul, waiting for it to get back up, but after a while of nothing, Alphys took a deep breath. She hadn’t killed the child outright, so Undyne must have _just_ whittled its health down to knock it unconscious.

            Undyne prodded the body a few times before she summoned a pair of restraints from her inventory and began to bind the Soul’s wrists and ankles. Tears stung her eyes as Undyne took off her helmet, got out her phone, and then punched a few buttons. This was it—the fourth Soul, and Undyne hadn’t even gotten hurt. _It’s a sick sort of cosmic joke that she faces more danger from other monsters than she did that human,_ an angry part of her mind grumbled, but she jumped when her own phone began to ring.

            Flustered, she juggled her phone around until she got it against her ear. “Y-yes? Hello?” She wanted to snap at whoever it was trying to distract her from this glorious moment, but with her luck it could have been Asgore and she didn’t dare mouth off to him, no matter how much his stupid laws annoyed her.

            “Hey, Alphys?”

            Alphys jerked and glanced at the screen, just in time to see Undyne’s mouth move—she’d nearly forgotten there was few seconds delay on it. “Oh my god, Undyne, you really did it.”

            Undyne laughed into her ear and on the screen Alphys saw her smile. “Yeah, I got him. You mind letting me into the elevator? I need to get this kid to Asgore fast.”

            She swiped at her eyes with her coat’s sleeve and reached for her keyboard with her other, sandwiching the phone between her cheek and shoulder. “Yeah, I can get you in. I-if you can come to the lab, I can get you straight up to Asgore without having to worry about anyone hiding around the elevator doors.”

            There was a pause and she saw Undyne frown on the screen. “Yeah,” she said after a moment, “that’d probably be safest. But don’t come out to meet me, okay? I don’t know if this little bugger is going to wake up soon. I don’t want him trying anything.”

            Alphys snorted. “I can see from here just fine. I have no interest in coming out to gawk at it.” Although it’d be nice to get a chance to study a _live_ human for once. At least she’d get a chance to examine a fresh corpse, instead of poking around the old remains of the other Souls’ bodies.

            Undyne relaxed and reached down to grab it by the back of its shirt. “All the same. I’ll be there in a minute. Just get the elevator ready for me.”

            “It’s already ready to go. I’ll hold off unlocking the lab doors until you get here though.”

            “Alright. See you soon.”

            “See you,” she murmured as Undyne hung up. She sat there, watching and waiting as Undyne began to haul the child through the passage that connected to Hotland. Luckily, no one bothered her as she walked towards the Lab. The moment she got near, Alphys undid the locks and let the Captain enter.

            She sat there, clutching her claws together as she listened to Undyne enter and then stomp through the mess in the other room. She wanted desperately to run out there and—and greet her, congratulate her, weep over her? She didn’t know, but she felt too full to ever be sure. It was almost a relief to hear her open the elevator and then to hear it move a moment after. She had to watch in agony as Undyne began the long trek to the Castle. Most monsters sensibly hid in their homes, knowing that a human was about, especially one with a death count.

            Undyne got stopped three times along the way by schmucks and morons who had the gall to try and challenge her for the child. Logically, she could understand why they would try—the power to escape the Underground, to unimaginable powers lay in that brat’s body. The rest of her was all too happy to see Undyne strike them down effortlessly, even as she winced at the idea of Undyne’s LV going up even more.

            Alphys didn’t dare breathe a sigh of relief until she saw Undyne enter the castle. Even then, she watched and waited to see Undyne exit the castle once again, this time without the Soul. She walked taller and for a moment the sun from the massive hole in the mountain caught her armor and she shone like some glorious hero straight out of an anime. Alphys had to swipe her eyes at the thought, but once the tears started, it was hard to stop.

            Undyne made it back to the elevator unaccosted and stepped in. Through her tears, Alphys managed to check the elevator and then squeaked when she realized that instead of heading outside, it was heading directly down into the lab. She finally scrubbed away the last of her tears as she slipped off her chair and scrambled for the door.

            She stepped out in just time for the door to elevator door to open. Undyne stepped out and it took all Alphys had to not start crying again. Sensing her, Undyne turned and then smiled at her.

            “It’s done? Asgore has the Soul?”

            Undyne’s lips stretched into a toothy grin. “We got it. We fucking got that soul, Al.”

            Alphys sagged backwards against the hidden door. “My god. Another Soul.” _More than half of what we need. Oh my god._ Alphys blinked and stared back at Undyne. “Oh—I—I need to send out a notice. Someone has to get word to Mettaton so he could put it on the broadcast. _I_ need to put out the official notice for Undernet.”

            Undyne laughed. “Yeah, you fucking do. Everyone needs to know about this!” She glanced away, to the far wall, her gaze going unfocused as she smiled. “The fourth Soul. More than half done, Al.” She laughed again and shoved a gauntleted hand through her hair, not even caring when the metal caught some of the strands. “Damn, I have no idea how I’m going to get any work done and I still have to finish my patrol.”

            Hearing that, Alphys couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped her mouth. Undyne looked at her, but the moment their eyes met they were both laughing. In no time they were both doubled over laughing, all that wound up emotion finally spilling over.

            It took ages—one would start to quiet down only for the other to snort and send them both into near hysterics—but they finally calmed down. Alphys watched Undyne go reluctantly, wishing she had the guts to ask Undyne to come back, if only for a celebratory drink or something, but kept her mouth shut.

            For three weeks, the world seemed… not perfect, but as close to good as it got around there. Alphys even managed to offer Undyne that drink one day as she left to return to her home, although Undyne stuck to water since she didn’t dare even get the littlest bit buzzed when she still had a long walk home. Undyne now constantly chose to take the elevator in Alphys’ lab rather than risk the ones outside if she could help it, especially since it would spit her out into New Home so she could avoid the Core at least. Sometimes they’d talk, never anything less than cordial, a rare happenstance if there was one. Undyne didn’t even posture at her. She’d even begun to plot ways that she might be able to convince Undyne to spend more time there.

            She should have known that it was too good to last.

            Three weeks later, Alphys got a call from Asgore. She nearly missed picking it up; as she stumbled over a polite address, he told her in clipped tones to get there and to bring healing items before he abruptly hung up. At first baffled, she reluctantly obeyed. Then she paused and thought _this just how I met Undyne._

            That’s when the worry began to set in. She scrambled for items after that and then raced for the elevator. She rode it up and had her hand cannon ready before the doors even opened. Some punk tried to jump her as she scurried to the palace; she barely paid him any mind as she blasted him off the walkway and hurried on—her LV didn’t go up afterwards, so he must have lived, but she didn’t care.

            In the castle, she was nearly held up by a cocky Enforcer up until she pointed her cannon at her. Word must have gotten around about the cannon because the Enforcer actually backed off and let her pass.

            She was running by the time she reached the medical rooms. She tried to convince herself she was being silly—because what were the odds, really—but she ground to a halt as she saw Asgore step out of the medical ward. He blinked at her for a moment before turning and leaving. She froze for a moment, taken aback by his silence, but somehow found the will to make her feet carry her forward.

            Opening the door, her breath caught in her throat. Undyne was lying on a gurney, still in full armor except for her helmet. Her breath came shallow, hardly noticeable inside the bulk of the armor. She was clutching at her face with a blood soaked rag.

            Alphys stomach twisted. She had to marshal her strength once again and walked forward. She climbed up onto a stool and peered down at the Captain. “Captain?”

            She nearly cried when Undyne’s free eye blinked opened, but the sluggish movement did little to soothe her. It seemed ages passed before Undyne’s eye finally focused on her. When it did, she only blinked. “Al?”

            She tried to smile; it was a weak, pale thing. “R-rough day?”

            In spite of terrible pain that she must have been in, Undyne managed a rusty chuckle. “You could say that.”

            “What h-happened?” she asked, too afraid to reach for the rag just yet.

            Whatever mirth in Undyne’s face died. “I got… lazy.”

            Alphys stiffened on principle. “You are _not_ lazy.”

            Undyne let out a noise that could have been a laugh, but sounded more like a wheezing cough. “Well then. I must be… getting stupid.”

            “That’s _not true either_ ,” she hissed.

            The Captain blinked her visible eye at her, and to her horror, pulled the bloody rag away, revealing a mess of an eye socket. Inside the hole there was no eyeball at all—whatever had hit her had dislodged the eye entirely. Had anyone tried to save it, or had it been destroyed when whatever it was hit her? Worse of all, in the core of the wound, she could see dust swirling around in the pool of blood.

            “Well, doc,” Undyne grunted as the wound bled sluggishly. “What would you call this then?”

            Alphys felt her body start to betray her, to feel her face go pale and her legs want to sway. Only the fear of Undyne’s disdain kept her upright. _“What_ the hell h-happened?”

            “What do you think happen?” she snorted and glanced away. “I got stabbed. I—fuck, it’s so stupid!” she shouted and winced.

            Seeing the flicker of pain, Alphys gasped and scrambled to get her phone out, to get at the healing supplies in her inventory. “C-captain, don’t-”

            “I just completed my patrol for New Home.” She paused and coughed; her teeth looked faintly orange from the blood she was spitting up. “I—I just turned around and-” her coughing cut her off as it turned into a hack.

            Alphys wasted no time and pulled out her supplied before scurrying towards the cabinets. She grabbed a shallow pan, some other supplies, and then hurried back to Undyne’s side. “T-that’s enough. Has no one been in to h-heal you at all?”

            “Asgore,” she started, but then trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. The blood loss must have been getting to her, if she was using his first name so blatantly inside the palace. “…and then it… didn’t even work.”

            Alphys frowned—if the Overlord had tried to heal her, he’d obviously failed. If he hadn’t, then she had no idea what Undyne was trying to say, and that was no relief either. “Captain, I need you to try a-and focus. I’m going to have to ask you some questions. J-just try to answer them, ok-kay?”

            Undyne blinked and let her hand flop against the table.

            She hoped that was an answer. “Someone tried to heal you but it didn’t work? Did they say w-why not?”

            To her horror, Undyne’s uninjured eye began to droop closed. “Something… something about… my ability to recovery?”

            Alphys shuddered. “Did they say it was too l-low?”

            She grunted; it sounded vaguely affirmative.

            Setting down the tools she just had, she glanced back up at the cabinet. Nothing she had could heal the damage if her recovery rate was too low—it’d be like dumping buckets of water into the abyss at the bottom of Waterfall. Nothing useful would come of it and if she’d actually been a healer, she would have been at risk of being pulled into death with Undyne.

            _NO! No, Undyne’s not going to die!_ She paused as her gaze landed on a certain bottle. It gave her pause. _No. She will not die. Not if I can help it._

            She pushed herself away from the table and scurried to the cabinet. Inside, she reached for the bottle of caustic healing magic—unlike the other healing magic, it’d force the wound to scar shut, rather than let it get drained away into her miserable recovery.

            But, on the other hand.

            Shuddering, she grabbed the bottle and hurried back. “C-captain, I need you t-to listen to me,” she began, but then froze when she realized Undyne was staring listlessly at the ceiling, eye unfocused. In a moment of panic, she smacked her claws off the gurney; to her relief it made Undyne twitch. “Undyne!”

            That got her to look at her. “Wuh?”

            Taking a breath, Alphys held up the bottle. “Remember when I healed your shoulder? This is the same stuff. If I p-pour it in, it’ll hurt like hell, but it will force the bleeding to stop.”

            Undyne blinked at her. “…great?”

            Alphys gripped the bottle. “B-but if I do, I won’t be a-able to re… restore your… restore your eye,” she finally muttered.

            There was a long moment of silence before Undyne shut her eye. For a moment, Alphys panicked, but then Undyne spoke. “Do it.”

            Alphys shut her own eyes, her heart squeezing as she tried to take a steadying breath. Once she could, she opened her eyes. “I’m going to need to put you in re-restraints.”

            “Just do it,” she mumbled.

            Shivering, Alphys secured her wrists and ankles to the bed—she didn’t want to get caught in any of the thrashing—and then uncapped the bottle. “O-okay. Here we go.”

            The moment the magic hit the empty socket, it let out a vile hiss and Undyne snapped out of her disorientation. With an eardrum shattering shriek, she arched off the table and nearly ripped her way out of the restraints. Alphys had to jump back so that the bottle wasn’t smacked from her hand.

            “Un-Undyne! Try to keep still—I-I’m still not done.”

            With an eerie groan, Undyne slumped back onto the table. At least she didn’t stop making noises—if she had, Alphys probably would have lost what little calm she had left.

            Alphys let her have a moment, but when she stepped back to the side of the gurney, she shivered to hear the Captain let out a whimper. That was wrong, so utterly wrong, but as Alphys raised the bottle back up, she could hardly blame her.

            It took a few more tries, but eventually the wound was sealed shut and her health held out before it hit one. Alphys managed to pour a Sea Tea down her throat, but it hardly raised her health at all. She got out her phone again and pulled out some tools to try and get some readings off her—she found was exactly what she expected. Undyne’s recovery rate was so low, it was barely above a human’s level of recovery. Her max HP was down as well.

            Undyne’s hope was crashing down. Even if she got Undyne’s health back up to full, it was only a matter of time.

            She was going to fall down. Soon.

            Putting her head in her hands, Alphys tried to not let horror swallow her whole. _I wish I was back in the lab. Everything’s so much easier when it’s on the other side of the screen. So less real. I could be just an assistant again and that the boss would have to handle this. I wish I was a kid again. I wish the stupid barrier was down._

_I wish I didn’t care at all._

A groan from the table distracted her, made her look up. When she did, she found Undyne drifting back to consciousness to stare at the ceiling again. “…doc?”

            Flinching, Alphys leaned over her quickly, undoing the restraints on her. “Y-yes?”

            Undyne blinked as if surprised she answered; her eye seemed wide too. Perhaps she hadn’t meant Alphys and had only been calling for a medic of any sort? “Oh… So, you _are_ here.”

            _Oh, that doesn’t sound good._ Rubbing her claws together beneath the gurney, Alphys cleared her throat. “D-do you remember any of what h-h-happened?”

            There was a long stretch of silence as Undyne stared blankly before she finally frowned. “I got stabbed in the eye by one of my… another Enforcer. Dragged myself back here. It’s a little hazy after that. I think the Overlord came in?”

            “He did,” she murmured.

            “Huh,” she replied, frowning up at the ceiling before glancing back down to Alphys. When their gazes locked Undyne’s face instantly changed. The moment she spotted Alphys she looked downright—loopy, for lack of a better term. “And then you came.”

            Alphys bit back a sigh—sometimes in large quantities, the healing magic caused euphoria in patients. This was no good—maybe at home, Undyne would have been fine, but she was deep in the middle of dangerous territory.  Still, the simple joy in Undyne’s face made her heart hurt with… something. She didn’t want to think about it at the moment. “Yes, I did. Do remember what happened after that?”

            Undyne frowned, blinking solemnly before grimacing. “My face feels funny.”

            She cringed. “H-how so?”

            The fish monster gestured at her face with a boneless twist of her wrist. “It feels all… numb.”

            “Um, y-yeah. That’s the healing magic working. It’s creating new s-scar tissue.” She decided not to add that her face would probably hurt like a bitch tomorrow.

            _If she lives through the night._

            Alphys flinched at her own thought.

            Undyne hummed, still staring at her. “Hey, doc. Got a question.”

            “Y-yeah?”

            “Were you calling me by name there for a bit?”

            She froze. _Oh god, she’s going to put a spear through my head. She’s going to kill me. Oh fuck, it won’t matter if she’s half-dead already. She doesn’t know that. Oh, fuck._ “I—um—c-couldn’t get a r-response for you, so, I, uh. I did.” She froze. She was quick; she might get her cannon out in time to shoot first. To her own shame, she wondered how much EXP that would give her, considering Undyne’s LV.

            To her surprise, Undyne _smiled_. “Hey, does that mean I can call you Alphys?”

            … _wow, that magic must be really rough on her._ “Undyne, you already call me by my n-name.”

            Undyne frowned. “Noooo. No, I mean, can I call you it like you’re? My friend?”

            Alphys stared at the odd pause. _She needs to get out of here now, before one of those ingrates gets the nerve to bust in here and tries to kill her. Still at least she probably isn’t thinking about killing me._ “Y-yeah, sure. Whatever you want.” Her throat felt tight—she didn’t want to think about why—so she cleared her throat. “C-captain, is there some place-”

            “Hey, no,” the warrior groaned, flailing her arms in Alphys’ general direction, making her stumble back. “No take backs—you got to call me by name now. S’only fair.”

            She couldn’t stop the squeak that escaped her, but she did her best to not think about how hot her face suddenly felt. “U-Undyne?”

            She actually beamed at her—Alphys winced to see such a cheery expression on a face that was so different from how she’d appeared just a day ago, when she seen her last as she stopped by the lab before going back to Waterfall. “Yeah, that’s it!”

            Alphys swallowed. “U-Undyne, do you have a—a safe house near here? Where you can sleep for tonight?” There was no way she was making it back to Waterfall on her own and there was no way Alphys would dare risk trying to help her home on those dark paths.

            Undyne frowned. “No.  I, mean, I _did_ have one. Then that stupid asshole Aaron found it and tried to lay a trap. So it blew up. No safe house for me anymore.”

            Resisting the urge not to grimace, Alphys tried to consider her options. There was no taking her to Waterfall. Definitely no leaving her there in the castle. A voice in the dark hidden spot in her mind tried to demand she leave her, to keep her own skin safe. Alphys brutally ignored it.

            Well, there was only one thing for it. Alphys squared her shoulders even as her hands began to shake; she clasped them together to hide it. “Undyne, get up. You’re—you’ll be coming w-w-” she paused and forced herself to swallow past the tightness in her throat. “With me.”

            Undyne blinked. “I am?”

            “Y-yes. It’s not safe here. S-so, if there’s nowhere else you can go…” she trailed off, hoping recognition would spark.

            “…is this a sleepover?”

            Alphys blinked. “Um. Sure?”

            To her surprise, Undyne was all grins. “Cool. I always wanted to hang out more with you. Could never find a good excuse though.”

            It took everything she had to not do a double take. “I—what?” It had to be the healing. This was too weird—too impossible to be anything else. “I. Okay. C-come on, Undyne. Let’s get you on your feet. Then we can go back to the lab and—and h-hang out?”

            “Yeah,” she started to laugh as she swung herself upright, but the moment she was up her face fell and she began to sway.

            Alphys gasped. “Undyne! S-slow down. Try to stay s-steady, okay?”

            “Oh,” she groaned, clutching her head. “My head feels funny.”

            “I—I know. Let’s just g-go slow, okay?”

            It took some work but she finally got Undyne upright; she swayed on her feet and began to list against Alphys, but the scientist got her out the door. It was hard to juggle keeping Undyne upright with one arm and holding her cannon with the other, but they almost made it to the front entrance.

            Three monsters were waiting for them at the entrance, only one of whom was an Enforcer, so Alphys assumed that he’d gone and gotten his friends of backup. Alphys didn’t wait to bluff them away; she let go of Undyne, who swayed on her feet, but grabbed the scientist’s shoulder so she stayed upright, and then raised her blaster, bracing herself with her tail. She fired it into the guy on the left and wrenched her arm around into an arc to hit the other two. The first monster and the Enforcer were knocked off their feet and propelled into the wall on the other side of the courtyard.

            The third just exploded into a cloud of dust.

            Alphys flinched as her LV went up—she was not a LV 1, but her LV wasn’t high either since she was in no hurry to end up like everyone else in this world—and she felt something small and fragile shatter insider her. The feeling left her arms trembling and fire in her gut that sang a siren call of courage to steady her hands.

            “The next person who tries to rush me, I’m going to blast them clear to Snowdin, I swear to god,” she announced loudly, hoping that if anyone else was linger, that it’d be enough to scare them away. And she did hear _something_ scamper away but then there was nothing.

            The rest of the way back to the elevator was clear, so Alphys unlocked the hidden panel and pressed the Lab button. Stepping out into the lab, she realized she still had no real idea of what to do with Undyne. From her swaying, Alphys decided to at least get her some place to sit or lie down. But where to put her? Downstairs, in the old lab? There were a few beds down there, but it was damp and probably stuffy since no one had been down there to turn the fans on in a while. And it was a boring, miserable place to be.

            She came to a quick decision—she would put Undyne in her own bed. _Sleep’s for the weak anyway._ Not that she’d say that to Undyne, especially since getting her to bed was the best thing for her.

            “Okay, Un-Undyne. Time for b-” The word caught in her throat. “B-bed,” she finished lamely and tried her best to shepherd the woozy captain onward.

            Once she got Undyne near the bed, she kicked the side of her bed cube. It unfolded swiftly and she grimaced to see the rumpled bedclothes, bag of half-eaten Chisps, and an assortment of crumbs. She muttered something and let go of Undyne to clean it up, but the moment she let go, Undyne apparently decided that it was good enough as is because she nearly shoved Alphys aside to collapse directly onto it.

            “Un-Undyne!” she squeaked and scrambled forward to check on her where she lay sprawled face down. “A-are you okay-?” She paused as she heard a grunt. She took a step back as Undyne lifted her arms up, braced herself against the mattress, and then pulled the rest of her body to lay on the mattress as well. Alphys stepped forward to unlace her boots, but when she looked up her heart sank to see Undyne staring dully at the wall before her. “Undyne?” she tried.

            “So. Is my eye permanently gone?”

            Alphys winced. “Y-yes, I’m afraid so.”

            Her lips stretched into a mirthless smile. “I must look like shit right now.”

            Alphys decided not to go with the obvious truth. “Um… w-well, I’m sure you… you’ll look very d-dashing with an eye patch?”

            She laughed, a dry, weak sound, more of a wheeze than amusement. “Hey, Al. You’re a smart girl. Let me ask you something.”

            Her mouth was dry; she took a moment to work up the saliva to pry her tongue loose from the roof her mouth. “W-what is it?”

            “What’s the point of it?”

            Something inside Alphys went cold; her hands went clammy, so she clasped them together. “Of what?”

            Undyne stared at the wall for so long and so silently, Alphys began to feel strands of panic that maybe she was beginning to fall down already. Her voice startled Alphys when it actually came. “Living, I guess.”

            Despite the way her throat tried to close up, Alphys shot forward and grabbed Undyne’s wrist before she knew she had moved. “There’s lots of things to live for!” she shouted, surprised by the fervor in her voice. All she could think of was stupid things—popato chisps that were perfectly salted on one side so she could press it directly into her tongue, the satisfaction of switching a machine on and having it purr to life on the first try, Undyne’s laugh, to crush your enemies and see them driven before you, although that last one might be a movie quote, she couldn’t remember right now. So, instead she blurted out the first thing she could think of. “Cute girls.”

            Undyne paused and finally looked at her, her eyes finally focusing with startling clarity. “Cute girls?”

            Alphys winced. God, she was an idiot. “O-or tough, strong women, i-if that’s more your thing.”

            Undyne just blinked. “I’m… not exactly looking cute right now.”

            “W-well, maybe not.” She tried to smile, which felt odd, like her lips had forgotten how to curl properly. She settled for patting Undyne’s arm. “But you do look very tough. And strong. A-and soon, you’ll be dashing with your eye patch, r-right?”

            This seemed to give her something to work on as she blinked and glanced away. “Dashing.”

            “Yes, v-very.” She paused, licking her lips and trying desperately to think of something more comforting than that pathetic excuse. “Besides, I… I’m going to make you a new eye!”

            That made Undyne stare at her again. “Huh? Can you… do that?”

            _No_ , she thought bluntly, as she felt herself go cold all over. But she was never going to admit to that, because for a moment she thought she saw something flashing in Undyne’s eye again. “Yeah! M… maybe not for seeing out of—b-but something better?”

            Undyne’s brow knit together. “Better…?”

            “Yeah,” she paused as a wild idea came to mind. “It’ll shoot lasers!”

            The remaining eye in Undyne’s face grew wide. _“Lasers?_ What, like your canon? _”_

            She found herself nodding as her rational mind began to despair over the logistics of making a laser generating engine tiny enough to fit into a fake eye. “Yes. That’d scare anyone off.”

            “That… might be the coolest thing I’ve ever heard,” she whispered, awe thick in her voice.

            She kept nodding, like an idiot, but reached to pull the comforter over her. “Yes, it sure is. I-I’ll get working on it right away. And I’ll make you new armor!” she added, inspiration smacking her. _With some new additions for monitoring your hope levels too._ No more close calls for her, not of Alphys could help it. “We’ll get you m-measured tomorrow. S-so, you just rest. Focus on healing up. A-and in the morning everything will be fine.” She smoothed the blanket down. “Everything will be fine.”

            Undyne laughed, but there was finally an edge of actual humor there. “Sounds… awesome. Can’t… wait.”

            She looked up, but relaxed when she saw Undyne was only asleep. She watched her for a moment before she got into her supply closets and began to root around in them. She even went into the hidden lab to search before coming back up with her arms loaded with machines. Hurrying back into her quarters, she set her armload down and began to pick out the first sensors. Carefully, she wired Undyne up with machines spitting out a dozen readouts. What she saw was only a touch better than she’d seen that afternoon, but it did little to cheer her.

            There was no way around it; if she did nothing, if Undyne’s hope dwindled any further, that was it. Undyne would fall down and then.

            She’d be gone.

            Alphys pressed her face into her hands and focused on breathing. It’d been a long time since she’d had to deal with the idea of someone she knew personally falling down. Her own parents hadn’t fallen down—they’d been struck down, years apart but still at the hands of others for petty reasons like ‘going out late for groceries’ or ‘just plain ugly’. Victims of ‘kill or be killed’. After that, there hadn’t been many people she was close to, so the idea had just seemed so nebulous as to not matter at all.

            But now there was Undyne. (Strong, courageous, valiant, beautiful, fierce, and always so much better than this world deserved.) She couldn’t remember if she grieved for her boss, but it seemed unavoidable now.

            Unless.

            Alphys dug out some Sea Teas, crushed up some caffeine pills, and chugged. She had no intention of sleeping that night anyway, on the off chance that something did go wrong, but right then she was more concerned with getting pencil to paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story about Gaster's 'wake-up coffee' is inspired by this story of a tumblr user's desperate attempt to finish their final paper on time. Link here: http://appropriately-inappropriate.tumblr.com/post/99019808740/rukafais-graveyardhorse-korrakun-my


	8. ...For Toy Soldiers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is late--not only was I busy, I kept changing plot points and scenes. It was a beast to write, but now I can finally focus on other stories.
> 
> There's a lot of time skips in this chapter. It was kinda unavoidable.

            Come morning Alphys sat, twitching something awful but she had a few sketches that she didn’t hate and an almost complete schematic on Undyne’s new armor. She knew where she could get most of her materials, but the question was where she would get the delicate circuitry needed for the sensors that would be monitoring Undyne’s health. She wasn’t sure how much she could scrap by with, but she was dead certain that it was going to be the best suit of armor she ever made or she would just go hurl herself into the abyss at the bottom of Waterfall and just be done with it all.

            That might have been the caffeine talking. Alphys stopped caring too much after she dug three long scratches into her wrist absentmindedly picking at the scabs there.

            Undyne didn’t wake up until it was nearly noon, and even then, Alphys was surprised to hear her stirring. She allowed herself a quick thought that maybe it was a good sign and then promptly got up and hurried over.

            “Ca—Undyne? C-can you hear me?”

            Undyne grimaced for a moment then opened her eye. She blinked up at the ceiling, frowned, and then twitched. “Wah-?”

            “Undyne,” she tried again and tapped the side of the bed to make her look over. “Undyne, do you understand me?”

            To her relief, Undyne seemed to perk up as she turned her head to stare at the scientist. “…doc?”

            Alphys breathed a sigh of relief—at least she recognized her. She wasn’t so far gone that she wasn’t responding either. Good signs all around, but Alphys didn’t let herself relax too much. “Y-yes, it’s me. Undyne, how are you feeling? Are you in any p-pain?”

            She frowned thoughtfully. “Um. No? I feel… fine? I guess.”

            The doctor glanced over at the readouts of the machines still wired to Undyne and grimaced. Thankfully, the long sleep had recovered her health, but her HP had gone down by no small amount. It was a whole fifty points lower than it’d been just a week before; still head and shoulders above the other members of the Enforcers, but to lose fifty points in one night was nothing to brush off. It could take months for her to raise her HP again.

            _If_ she lived that long.

            Resisting the urge to shudder, Alphys turned back to see Undyne frowning at her. “What’s with the sour face? And why am I all wired up with-?” She paused as she looked down at herself; she had lifted her arm, as if to gesture to herself, but her arm was now frozen in the air. At first, Alphys was confused; then Undyne began to slowly turn her head and Alphys realized what the problem was. Undyne had realized she couldn’t see her hand in her peripheral vision.

            Alphys watched, half terrified, half resigned as Undyne looked at her hand with her good eye and then went pale.

            Undyne let her hand drop down to her side and stared silently up at the ceiling. “So. That wasn’t a dream.” She grimaced and shut her eye. “Doc, what happened to my eye? Did it not… heal? At all?”

            With a sigh, Alphys reached up and pulled off her glasses so she could pinch at the bridge of her snout between her eyes. “Unfortunately, with your recovery rate so l-low, no amount of healing was working. To get you to stabilize, you… you authorized me to—to… I’m sorry. I—I had to p-pour raw healing magic into your eye socket.”

            Undyne looked thoughtful as she glared up at the ceiling. “And that didn’t heal my eye because…?”

            “Raw magic like that works like a cauterizing agent—it burns away immediate damage to… to produce scar tissue that will stop the damage from spreading.” She spoke from deep in her own memories; she could see her old boss, handing her that book on healing magic, telling her that it was important for a Royal Scientist to broaden their fields as much as possible before lecturing all of them on healing magic. She could even remember her boss forcing Sans to wake up from his nap, scolding him that it was too important to miss. When she spoke from the depths of her memory, it made the present easier to bear. “The scar tissue, however, represents a permanent loss of original tissue. No amount of healing magic can return loss of organs once the scar tissue has sealed the damage in place.”

            There was a long silent moment before Undyne snorted. “Seals… always holding us back.”

            “Something like that,” Alphys mumbled, feeling small and useless. She dug her claws into her palms hard enough to make her hands ache.

            “So,” Undyne hissed, shifting around in the bed, trying to get comfortable. “My eye’s gone. Anything else I should know?”

            Fighting the urge to flinch, Alphys made herself look up. “Your hit points have gone down fifty points.”

            That knocked whatever surety she’d been growing right off her face; her jaw slackened and her eye widened. “ _Fifty_ points? I…” she paused, her expression dimming as she looked through Alphys. “Well. I guess Gerson was right—it really did eat into my hit points at last.”

            Alphys frowned. “Gerson?”

            “Gerson—The Hammer of Justice? The old war hero?”

            Alphys sat up. “The turtle who fought in the war?”

            “Yeah, that’s him.”

            “He’s _still_ -?” Alphys paused, embarrassed to admit she hadn’t realized he was still alive, despite the fact she’d looked over the directories of living monsters many a times. She’d just never cared to connect a random name to a famous person. Rather than admit that, she just squirmed and settled on a less embarrassing truth. “He’s still in Waterfall?”

            “Yeah,” Undyne answered, one hand coming up to touch at the gauze Alphys had wrapped around her head. “He’s the only monster I know who still has healing magic. More than once he’s fixed me up.”

            _Nice to know at least one person who definitely still has healing magic left. He’s a rarity three times over, I guess. But, that reminds me…_ “Undyne, how much do you remember after being attacked yesterday?”

            Undyne grimaced. “I dragged myself back to the castle. Somehow didn’t get picked off along the way. I don’t really remember how I got to—no, wait. I think I do.” She paused, frowning. “I think the Overlord found me in one of the halls. He must have dragged me to the medical wing.”

            “ _A-Asgore_ did?” Why had he bothered? Why not kill her and take the EXP?

            “Why bother right?” Undyne grunted. “Maybe he doesn’t want to bother finding my replacement. Anyway, he got me there and… no, he _must_ have tried to heal me.”

            They both fell silent as they realized what that meant—Asgore must have truly lost the ability to heal others. For some reason, the thought chilled Alphys—in spite of knowing that Asgore clearly must have had a very high LV and thus low empathy, the idea that the all powerful Overlord had lost such an important ability felt-

            Wrong. Wrong in a way Alphys wasn’t sure she could put a claw on.

            Undyne glared at the ceiling after a minute and waved her hand angrily at it. “After that, it gets hazy. I do remember you coming though. But, uh. That’s about it.”

“I see.” She frowned at the silence and finally took a deep breath. “I-I, uh, have s-some ideas, t-though. A-about what we could do for a re-replacement.”

            Undyne frowned and looked at her. “A what?”

            She forced herself to speak clearly and slowly. “A replacement. For your eye.”

            Undyne paused and then moved to sit up—rather than try and force her to keep lying down, Alphys only chewed on her lips while Undyne forced herself up. “My eye? Will it… let me see again?”

            Alphys grimaced. “I’m a-afraid my machines aren’t quite that a-advanced yet.” Mettaton could see out his eyes purely by his nature of his ghostly possession of his body. If he were to leave though, the robot form would be little more than a very heavy doll. She had no way to create the delicate connections she’d need to link with Undyne’s brain, even if she had the basics of the idea down. “B-but it could do other things.”

            The warrior grunted, but the interest wasn’t completely dead in her face as she slumped back against the headboard. “Like what?”

            “Like shoot lasers?”

            That caught Undyne’s attention. She straightened up again. “No shit? Like, what, like a laser pointer or like your…?”

            She nodded. “Like my cannon. Or rather, it’d be like a thinner, more concentrated form of my cannon, so more like a suped-up version of it, since it’d have to be smaller to fit into your eye socket.”

            Undyne stared for a moment. Then her lips curled into a toothy grin. “Wicked.”

            Alphys could have cried from joy.

 

 

 

 

            Undyne did not leave the Lab later that day—she technically could have, but Alphys had to put very little work into convincing her to stay. They took measurements for her eye, for the new armor, and looked over the plans until curfew started in Hotland.

            It was about nine that evening when Alphys got a call on her cell phone. Her phone had gotten buried in the piles of junk on her desk, so she just barely managed to pick it up on the last ring. She didn’t even look at the caller id as she answered it. “H-hello?”

            “Doctor Alphys,” Asgore said, making her blood go cold. “I want a report on how the Captain is healing. I was informed you’d taken her out of the castle.”

            Over in the bed, Undyne sat up, frowning at the phone. Alphys stuttered out a report, but before she could hang up, Undyne held up her hand. “I need to talk to him. Can I borrow that?”

            It was almost a surprise to hear Undyne make a request that actually sounded like one; Alphys handed her phone over with no fuss. She listened as Undyne spoke to Asgore; she expected more yelling than there was, but the conversation still ended with Undyne scowling darkly as she handed the phone over. She fiddled with her phone, passing it from one claw to the other, back and forth, until she finally plucked up the courage to speak. “Is everything… okay?”

            Undyne leaned back against the headboard with a shrug. “More or less. All things considered. He told me he expected me back to work tomorrow. I have had enough bed rest, apparently.”

            Alphys froze. “B-but your eye—I still need to show you those depth of field exercises a-and-”

            Undyne only shrugged again, this time her shoulders jerking upwards sharply. “He’s the boss.”

            Well, it wasn’t like she could argue with that. Frowning, Alphys glanced away, slipping her phone back into her lab coat’s pocket. They fell into an awkward silence; Alphys shifted nervously until she glanced up and saw the dull resignation in Undyne’s eyes. Panicked, she said the first thing that came to mind. “Why did you join the Enforcers?”

            The single yellow eye fixed on them for a moment before she huffed a sound caught between a laugh and a sigh. She reached up and shoved her hair out of her face, looking thoughtful. “It was, uh, actually kind of an accident. I hadn’t really been interested in them at all.” She frowned. “I was like… ten? Or something. Anyway, it was after my mom died.” She said it nonchalantly; there was hardly a monster whose family hadn’t at least lost one member to ‘kill or be killed’. “I was an angry kid. Talked a lot of shit. Tried to shank Asgore in the side one day during a field trip to the castle.”

            Alphys was glad she wasn’t drinking or eating anything at the moment because she probably would have choked on it. As it was, she still choked, just on her own breath and needed a moment to recover. “You… you did _what_ to the Overlord?”

            “Well, like I said. I was a very angry ten year old.”

            She spluttered. “He’s the Overlord!”

            A toothy grin spread over her lips. “I always aim high. Or, rather, I tried. He caught me before I even got two steps near him. He thrashed me good and then pinned me to the ground with the end of his halberd because I was still trying to get at him. My teacher—that asshole—just straight up left me there to die and focused on getting the rest of the class out. So, there I was, pinned to the ground, utterly alone, but still fighting like mad. And I think? I impressed him? Because he let me up after a while, even if he did smack around one more time to knock the wind out of me.

            “I still got back up, but then I realized he was watching me. I didn’t have much left in me to fight with, so I was trying to take a moment to recuperate when he just straight up sat down on a bench and asked me why I attacked him. I told him ‘cause you’re a dick’. He actually took it as a legitimate answer.”

            Alphys snorted before she could stop herself, clapping her hands over her snort to muffle it. She entirely missed the flash of triumph in Undyne’s eyes as she sat up more.

            “So, after I tried to shank him, he started critiquing me on my technique! I was so pissed off, I tried to stab him again. He, uh, grabbed the knife from me before I got very far.” She paused, her gaze going distant. “And then he did something funny. He said… he said that I had a lot of potential. And then he asked if I wanted to get strong enough to actually do something with my blade.”

            The scientist jerked back, eyes wide. “He did w-what?”

            “He trained me.” She grimaced. “Trained me like he was training me to actually kill him. And it was hell. He worked me like a damn dog—running, learning all these weapons, shit, he’d even set up ambushes to keep me on my toes.” She examined her hand, as if she was looking at something there, but Alphys couldn’t see anything—she could only assume Undyne was remembering some old wound, long since healed over. “But one day, I actually managed to knock him off his feet. I remember… I had my spear pointed at him and I looked down at him, the blood just pounding in my head and I… I just started laughing. I’d finally did it! I finally got one over on him.”

            Alphys stared—Asgore had been shown up in battle before? That sounded so… But then, perhaps it wasn’t so wrong. Asgore had been a father once, had probably been planning to raise his children up to be warriors themselves. But then, they were gone and he’d had no one. Maybe a century later, training a wild child had sounded somewhat pleasant. Maybe it’d left him enough pleasant memories that years later he’d even try to step in and heal Undyne’s almost mortal wound, even if he failed.

            She really wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The story did provide a hilarious mental image when she realized it sounded a lot like an anime she’d watched once about a child being distantly trained by their mother’s killer until the day that child grew strong enough to kill the murderer. She doubted Undyne would be amused—after all it was the story of a cute little lamb. Actually, Undyne would probably hate all her anime. Best not to mention any of it to her.

            Undyne, thankfully, provided her a distraction. “Of course, he knocked me onto my ass after a moment and told me not to get cocky. The next day, he offered me the position in the Overlord’s Enforcers.”

            “T-THAT’S how you joined the Enforcers?” Alphys squawked in surprised before clapping a hand over her mouth.

            Undyne laughed. “Weird, isn’t it? Life leads you to strange places.” She paused, frowning before she finally sighed. “Well. I suppose I should be getting out of your way and back to my own bed.”

            _“No!”_ It was out before she could stop it and then there was Undyne, looking up at her, her remaining eye wide. Her face burned, but she managed to finally stutter out a reason. “You have n-no armor. T-there’s probably at least t-three ambushes waiting for you on the way to Waterfall! Do you even have any healing items?”

            The Captain paused, sitting back. “Fuck, you’re probably right. I’m going to probably need someone to watch my back until I can get home and get my other set of armor. Damnit.” She took a breath, paused, and then turned back to Alphys. “Hey, Al, can I borrow your phone again? Just for a minute.”

            Reluctantly—what plan was Undyne thinking up now?—she handed her phone over again.  She watched as Undyne punched in a number and then waited. Someone answered, their voice very loud and waspish.

            “Hey, Papyrus. It’s Undyne.” The person on the end shouted her name and then began to harshly babble something. Undyne let them ramble for a moment before she huffed a laugh. “God, Papyrus, you’d think you missed me or something.”

            _“I DID NOT!”_ Alphys heard clearly, and then they added something a little softer, more hesitatingly.

            Whatever it was, it seemed to amuse Undyne. “Yeah, probably. It’d suck to be you then. Anyway, whatever, I’m alive. Look, I’m calling to ask you something—fuck, let me get a word in, will you? Fine, there. Do you want to train tomorrow or not?”

_“YES!”_ The answer roared out of the earpiece, making Undyne jerk back from it with a muttered curse.

            “Good. We can meet up tomorrow at six o’clock. No, I’m not at my house. You want to train? Come meet me, asshole.”

            _“FINE,”_ they groaned before muttering indistinctly.

            “Yeah, fuck you too. Meet me outside the Lab in Hotland. You know where that is? It’s real close to the border of Waterfall. Yeah, just—wait a second, how many Sentry Stations does your brother have? What? Who the fuck keeps hiring him?” She shook her head. “Anyway, yeah, past that bridge, but not much further. The River Person does a drop off just south of it, so you just need to go north. No, I don’t care if they give you the heebie jeebies. Fine. Take the long way. Just get here on time. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hung up, face satisfied. “There. He’ll make good backup until I can get home.”

            Alphys grimaced as she took the phone back. “Y-you’re not really going to train at six in the morning are you?”

            The Captain shrugged. “Might as well. I’m healed up, aren’t I? I can’t afford to get rusty.” She gestured at her face, expression wry. “It’s not like I don’t already have enough of a handicap. I don’t need to add more.”

            In spite of her fears, somehow she managed to not blurt out anything too mortifyingly cowardly. Instead, she opened her mouth and blurted out something sentimental. “Try to be careful, okay?”

            Undyne paused, frowning. “You know, part of me wants to say I don’t need to be careful, but obviously my face shows otherwise at the moment. So, uh. Yeah. I’ll try.” She waited, almost as if she was expecting some sort of answer, but Alphys was too busy being stunned to take the cue. Instead, she coughed and looked away. “So, um. Where are you sleeping?” She paused, frowning. “Wait, where did you sleep _last night?_ Is there another bed around here? Oh, hell, did I steal your bed last night?”

            Flustered, Alphys scrambled to answer. “Oh, n-no, it’s fine, I’m always happy to have you in my bed.” She froze as Undyne gave her a surprised look—she did, however, miss the other monster’s amused smile. “N-n-no! I-I mean-! I didn’t mind! That you took it! It was—for the best? A-anyway, it’s fine. You can u-use it again! I don’t mind. Uh—shit.”

            Undyne tapped her finger against the blanket. “Al. Where did you sleep last night?”

             “Sleep’s for the weak.” Alphys blinked and then her eyes widened in horror. _What the fuck is wrong with my mouth today?_

            Undyne frowned, her eyebrows snapping together. As she loomed forward, shadows gathered in the empty socket. “Sleep’s for the strong. You get me?”

            Alphys twitched. “No, I m-meant-” _Royal Scientist of monsterkind, premier scientist of the Underground, recognized at the forefront of monster science, and I still can’t think up a lie. Fuck, just say something!_ “I meant ‘sleep’s for the w-week’—I pull all nighters on the weekend. L-lots of work.”

            Undyne paused, tilting her head to the side. “It’s not even Friday?”

            _Goddamnit._ “I-I mean I… have a lot of practice. So, I’m good.”

            The Captain shifted backwards, snorting. “Well, ‘good’ or not, you should get some sleep yourself, doc. Now, please tell me you at least have a cot or sleeping bag I can just borrow and you can-”

            “N-no!” she gasped, freezing when Undyne glanced at her. “I—I mean, there are spare beds I can sleep in downstairs. But y-you should stay up here. It’s, um, better if you stay up here. I’m fine down there.”

            Undyne frowned. “There’s a downstairs?”

            Alphys sighed. “Sort of. There’s a sub lab, but it’s actually closer to the Core than around here. It was originally meant to be used as facility for the more high powered experiments, but after those got shelved, it became more of a storage space.” She still had the blue prints from some of the machines down there that’d been left half finished; she’d pondered the possibilities of tinkering with them to suite her own needs, but she hadn’t found a good excuse for them yet. “Since it’s close to the Core, it was kept secret from the rest of the monster populace, to keep them out of it.” Sans knew more about than she did—he’d said he’d practically lived there for a while.

            “Huh. No one’s ever said anything about it before to me,” she muttered softly. She reached up to scratch under her left eye, but nearly scratched the eyeball when she misjudged the distance. With a curse, she jerked back.

            Alphys fussed over her for a bit, trying to make sure she hadn’t actually hurt herself—or rather, that’s what she told herself she was trying to do. But once she did get a good look, it seemed to signal that the time to talk was over. Undyne grumbled and hunkered down into the bed she was much too big for. Alphys left her to try and get some sleep, going back to work on her schematics. For awhile, she just tried to focus on puzzling how to create a generator tiny enough for the fake eye, but the sound of Undyne’s easy breathing eventually lulled her. She shut her eyes for just a moment.

            She dreamed. She had to have been dreaming, because even at that moment she thought it couldn’t possibly be happening. Something faintly beeped—her phone? She started to rouse herself to find it, but then it shut off and she drifted back down. Then she felt something—heard something, something like a sigh—and someone picked her up. Strong, steady hands lifting her up like she was nothing, only to carry her to some place softer and far more comfortable than her desk chair.

            When she woke up in the late morning, she was in her bed. In her hand, a crumpled note. She carefully straightened it and read the jagged but precise handwriting.

_‘Al._

_It’s good you like your job and the eye looks great._

_But next time, sleep in your own bed, or I’ll drag you into it and keep you there._

_\--Undyne’_

            The bottom of the paper looked like she ripped it and there were marks like she’d started to write something at the bottom of the note, but changed her mind and tried to scribble over it before just tearing the bottom off. Setting the note besides her, she turned over to stare up at the ceiling, wonder what it was she started to write.

 

 

 

            Time passed. She made and finished Undyne’s new armor, with its climate control and its special sensors to track her hope. Her hope fluctuated wildly at times and what little free time Alphys had to herself she used to try and figure out why that was. Unfortunately, she couldn’t complete the eye for nearly a year—too many delicate pieces were needed and while she was allowed first pick whenever some new load of human trash finally sifted through the waters of the dump, she had to wait a long time for something suitable.

            In that year, the fifth Soul fell. It should have been a big celebration, but the poor dumb thing wandered into the Tem village. Undyne and three Enforcers had to wade into the village to get the half dead human out of there. They wiped out half the village before they could then escape from it. The human’s body was so badly damaged, they actually had to heal it before they took it Asgore. They had lie and spread their own rumors that the human had actually died there so they had to kill to get the soul back, otherwise there would have been an uproar about the loss of half the village, even it was the Temmies.

            It should have exciting, but instead Undyne came and sat in Alphys’ room silently until Alphys at last coaxed something from her. It’d been nerve wracking for Alphys who’d watched in growing panic as the sensors in the armor showed Undyne’s hope dwindling before her.

            “It’ll be okay, Undyne,” she tried, leaning closer in her chair next to the warrior perching on her bed. “That was the fifth soul. Only two more and then… then we’re free. Not much longer now. Just two more souls.”

            Finally, she shuddered. “Al, that kid—god, if you’d seen what they’d done to him…” she muttered. “He was so small. All tattered. Hardly had any of his limbs left. And no fight in him. No fight at all.”

            Alphys grimaced. “It’ll better if you don’t think of the souls as ‘he’ or ‘she’, Undyne. Just… think of them as only what they are.”

            “And what are they?” she asked, voice hollow.

            “Fuel. Fuel to open barrier. That’s all.”

            Undyne was quiet for a long time before she let herself sag forward. Alphys gasped, but she realized it wasn’t a haphazard fall—she’d been aiming to drop her head against Alphys’ shoulder. “It’d be better if the next one wasn’t a kid. Or at least had some fight in them. Anything would be better than… _that_.”

            She hesitated before sighing and leaning forward until her crest rested against Undyne’s shoulder. It was pure foolishness—wishing that an adult human would fall in. If a child like the Yellow Soul could leave a trail of dust and destruction, what could a full grown adult do? She prayed the next ones would be children, harmless, weak. Struck down fast and taken to Asgore.

            _Let him get his hands bloody._ Closing her eyes, she carefully reached up to brace her hands against Undyne’s arms. _It was him who started this mess. He ruined us all._

_He’s the one who should have to bear this punishment. Not Undyne._

And in the back of her mind, a seed of an idea was planted.

 

 

 

            Time kept passing. Somehow, Undyne held on and Alphys began to really wonder about the mystery of how she kept doing it. And then, one day, Alphys paused in the middle of her notes on Undyne’s health—there was something off, some variable she must have been missing, but what?—when she heard her phone rang.

            She tore through the piles of junk on her desk, letting trash spill off onto the floor as she hunted for her phone. Finding it, she barely answered it on the last ring, but she breathlessly spoke up. “Alphys, here.”

            _“Hey, Al. It’s Undyne.”_

            Instantly, she relaxed. “Ah! Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. I didn’t have time to check the ID.”

            Undyne laughed. _“I figured. Hey, I got some good news for you. A bunch of trash washed up down here in the dump. You get first pickings, but try to hurry. People have been restless all morning.”_

She nearly jumped out of her chair but paused as Undyne went on. “Restless?”

            _“Yeah. No one knows what’s exactly up, but there was something that happened in Snowdin. The Enforcers there are useless, so I sent someone to go check on it, but I haven’t gotten word back yet. So, try to hurry, will you? I’ll wait for you here at the dump. To make sure no one tries anything.”_

“Thank you—t-thanks! I’ll be there in j-just a second.”

            They said their goodbyes and hang up. Alphys scrambled to make room in her inventory for any of the heavier items and grabbed her salvage bags. She was nearly ready to go when she got another call. Waspishly, she almost snapped as soon as she accepted the call, but before she could even say a greeting, she heard Undyne shouting.

            _“Al! Have you left yet?”_

            Alphys blinked. “U-Undyne? N-no, I was nearly out the door, but-”

            _“Thank god! Don’t come!”_

She jerked her head back from the phone, staring at it. “W-what?”

_“Don’t come—Al, it’s a human. Another Soul! Some monsters captured it—that’s what all the rumors out of Snowdin were about.”_

            Alphys stared blankly at the wall before her, a bag slipping from her hand. “The sixth Soul.”

          _“Al, did you hear me? Stay put!”_

            She jerked herself again, this time on purpose, and forced herself to say something. “O-okay. Be… be careful,” she finished lamely as she tossed aside her bags and scrambled back to her computer. She needed to get the video feeds up.

            _“Don’t worry about me. You keep safe.”_

            Alphys would have laughed at the absurdity if she wasn’t so shocked. Instead, she muttered her goodbyes and nearly tossed her phone aside so she could focus on typing. At last, she found Undyne and the Soul just as they headed towards the entrance to Hotland. As they passed by the flashing marquee, Alphys finally got a good look at the human and froze.

            They were tiny—by far the smallest and the youngest human yet. Female with a mop of messy pale hair that looked as though someone had been pulling at it. Her face was dirty—she’d probably been shoved into the dirt at some point, but even in the fuzzy quality of the camera, she could make out the tear tracks running down her face. Worse, the human made no attempt to disguise the fact she was absolutely _bawling_ —if it weren’t for the fact her hands were tied behind her back, she probably would have been trying to scrub at her face.

            Undyne walked on one side of the child while another Enforcer hung back, trying to hold back the pack of ecstatic monsters who were hooting their joy as they followed. At one point, the child tripped and fell hard onto their front; the group went wild and began to dance, tossing their appendages up as they laughed at the child.

            Alphys watched in muted horror as Undyne whirled around and speared the nearest monster, who snuck forward to try and poke at the child. The monster vanished in a cloud of dust; the rest of the group and the other Enforcer froze as Undyne apparently shouted at them. Turning around, she reached down and picked the child up by the back of their jumper, hauling them up by the straps. Instead of sitting her back down on her feet, Undyne hefted her up and set her in the crook of her arm, leaving the other Enforcer to deal with the suddenly furious group. The child lay limply in Undyne’s arm and Alphys realized with a start that she’d been thinking of the human as if it was anything more than the fuel its soul was.

            Undyne stalked forward to the entrance of the Lab; guessing what she wanted, Alphys unlocked the front door and quickly secured the elevators so Undyne would have a clear shot to the Castle.

            She couldn’t bring herself to even want to open the door and peek out. Out in the Lab, the girl sobbed. “Please, I want my mommy. I wanna go back— _please, please!_ I just want my _mommy!”_

            Alphys shuddered and turned away, looking at the computer.

            “Shh,” she thought heard Undyne murmur, but then elevator opened and shut.

            Even though it disgusted her, Alphys found herself switching over to the live feed that ran in the elevator. Unlike the other cameras, this one had sound—the child was sobbing in earnest again and huddled up to Undyne as if she was hoping the warrior would comfort her.

            Looking at the picture they made, Alphys suddenly understood why Undyne had wished that the next human would be older and a fighter. Watching Undyne cradle the weeping child, her arms shaking as the child curled against her armor, Alphys got it.

            The sickest thing of ‘kill or be killed’ had always been the effect it had on children. She remembered scurrying around, always scared as a child, even in school where fighting was forbidden. She remembered the sick feeling of fear each time her parents had to venture out, and remembered the despair when one day they didn’t return. She remembered the viciousness of other children, snarling at her to keep away while she snarled back, like tiny soldiers at war. Seeing hate in a child’s eyes was deeply unsettling, but seeing despair was just as awful.

            The truth was a human child in despair was just as terrible.

            With a shudder, Alphys switched over to another camera feed, this one at the elevator exit, and waited for Undyne to step out. She watched as Undyne stalked through the streets of New Home, monsters peering out curiously but for once keeping their distance as they passed—perhaps they found the child’s crying just as unsettling.

            Undyne disappeared into the castle, vanishing for a long time until she staggered out. As she walked through the streets, a few monsters began to cheer and celebrate. Undyne spared them no time and kept walking until she reached the elevator. Alphys waited to hear the chime of the elevator out in the Lab, but after awhile she realized Undyne must have chosen not to come to that one and instead get off outside the Lab. She felt a strange stab of hurt—and why, her brain demanded, did she think she deserved to feel any upset at all?—but still silently watched as the Captain wandered back to Waterfall.

            She vanished around the Dump, and after a few minutes nearly gave Alphys a panic attack as the sensors in her armor abruptly shut off.

            Terrified, Alphys got out her phone and called her before she even knew what she was doing. Thankfully, Undyne picked up after a few rings. “U-Undyne, I—all the sensors in your armor turned off. I-is everything-?”

            _“I took it off.”_ Her voice sounded hollow as she moved around. Where was she at?

            “O-oh,” she muttered, frowning. “B-but, it’s not even two o’clock…”

            _“I know, I know. I just… needed a break.”_ Something creaked—perhaps she’d sat down. _“I’ll put it back on and go back to my patrol in a bit. I just wanted some air.”_

            Alphys frowned, glancing down at her lap. “O-okay.” She remembered with sudden clarity their phone call from earlier. “Um. L-look, about the stuff at the Dump…?”

            _“Oh shit, Al, I… I forgot.”_ A sigh. _“Okay, just… just give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you in Hotland. I’ll escort you then, so just-”_

            “It’s al-alright,” she stuttered, straightening. “You don’t ha-have to come. I know my way around the Dump and I’ll be careful, so…”

            _“No. People are going to be running crazy today, so that’s not any good. Fuck, how about I meet you at the Dump then?”_

            “Are you sure?” she asked softly.

            _“Yeah, I’ll be… fine.”_ She paused and to Alphys’ surprise, she heard the sound of a few notes being played on a piano. Was she listening to a cd? _“Hey, Al. Would you like to come over to my house afterwards?”_

Alphys nearly slipped off her chair.

            In the era of ‘kill or be killed’, to invite another monster into your dwelling was practically naming you their most trusted ally. Alphys had never been to another person’s house before, not even Bratty’s, although once she, Bratty, and Catty had hid in the alley behind Catty’s home as they tried to evade some stab happy bullies when they were younger.

_“Uh, Al?”_

            “I’d be honored,” she squeaked, but she meant every word.

            There was a soft chuckle at the other end. _“Okay then. See you soon.”_

In the dump, Alphys hit on a treasure trove—a whole box of discarded microchips, carefully sealed so that the water hadn’t damaged a single one. There was other useful things, but Alphys nearly cheered at the box—even a few of these meant that she could finally, at long last, complete Undyne’s eye. She turned to the warrior, eager to show off the find, but instead she found the warrior only looking listlessly at a large pile of junk.

            Gazing at her, Alphys bit her lip. “H-hey, Undyne?”

            The Captain blinked and turned to her. “Yeah?”

            For a moment, Alphys floundered. She wasn’t even sure why she’d spoken. And yet, as they locked eyes, she knew what she needed to say. “C-can I take a rain check on coming to your house tonight? Instead, w-would you come to the Lab…” she thought and made a quick decision. “Tomorrow?”

            Undyne frowned. “Why tomorrow?”

            “B-because I’ll have a present for you then.”

            Finally, there was a spark of interest in her yellow eyes. “What is it?” She glanced at the box in Alphys’ arms. “Did you find something good?”

            “Y-yeah! I promise, come to the Lab tomorrow. You—you won’t be disappointed.”

            Undyne considered it before shrugging. “Alright, doc. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

 

 

 

 

            Alphys didn’t even pretend that she was going to try and sleep at all that night. Instead, she went right for the obscene caffeine concoctions and dove into the construction. It’d been looking good until she’d gotten a call at four in the morning. She answered hesitantly and was a little dumbfounded to hear Undyne on the other end. “U-Undyne? Wh-what are you doing awake at this hour?”

            _“Al, I can’t stop thinking about that kid. The human.”_

            She let out a breath. As she’d been working, her mind had focused solely on the task at hand, but now she remembered. “I know. The sixth Soul.” She shook her head, still trying to wrap her brain around it. “Only one more.”

            Undyne sighed. _“Al, you don’t get it. The girl—the human—she just cried the entire way there that she wanted her mother. The other humans, I just brought them to Asgore unconscious mostly but at least they tried to do something. Kick, wriggle around, anything. But her… she just cried.”_

            “Undyne,” she began with a sigh. She wished she could get her to just realize that it was better not to think of them as actual people—she only had to think back to her own thoughts from earlier when she’d heard the sobs and physically recoiled from it. Those kind of thoughts only taxed a monster’s hope.

_“Al, how old were you when your mother died?”_

            Alphys paused, her breath catching in her throat. How old had she been? It’d been after dad died; she could remember coiling around her mother’s side, desperate for some kind of comfort, but she’d only sat there listlessly. “Seventeen.” She’d been lucky—most people she knew lost their parents well before then or wished that they had. “I was eight, though, when my dad died.”

            _“I was ten when Mom died—I told you that—but Mama… god, I was six when we lost her.”_ Undyne took a shaky breath. _“I just… she was late, but only by about five minutes. We hadn’t even thought to worry about her when one of Mom’s friends banged on the door to tell us they saw someone dust Mama as she walked home. Some asshole had just straight up stabbed her six times in the neck from behind.”_ She paused, voice grim. _“We didn’t even get to collect her dust. The wind blew it away before we could get there.”_

            Alphys had been lucky—someone had been kind enough to keep an eye on her father’s dust until they could hurry to collect it. For her mother, Bratty and Catty had kept an eye out for attackers as she swept up the dust into a container. Some of the dust had been lost, but both of her parents had enough left to have a proper funeral. Funerals without dust were an awkward but common happenstance, but it hadn’t made it any easier. She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry that happened.”

            _“I cried too, when Mama died. But I did that shit at home.”_ There was a touch of frustration, a bitten off sigh. _“I just—don’t humans get that it doesn’t help them in the long run? Tears just make it harder to see, harder to run away.”_

            Alphys was quiet, sensing that Undyne didn’t actually want her to reply now. Really, she probably had stopped paying attention already. She just needed someone to talk at.

            _“Humans… It’s weird, Al. When they cry… they sound just like a monster does.”_

            Her jaw trembled; she was suddenly glad Undyne couldn’t see it. The line went quiet, but not dead, the silence stretching on. She listened to the soft breathing on the other end for a while, comforted to at least know that there was still someone on the other side. At last, she licked her lips and spoke. “Undyne?”

            _“Yeah?”_

            “About what you said before. I… I hope the next human that falls in is an adult.” She closed her eyes. Anything had to be better than this torture. “I hope they know better than to cry at you.”

            Undyne was silent for a long time. Finally, she spoke. _“Yeah… me too. Me too.”_

 

 

 

            Alphys didn’t sleep a wink the entire night, but at least they were both in better spirits when Undyne arrived at the lab the next morning. She even managed a flicker of a smile for Alphys when she unlocked the outer door and then met her outside her personal quarters. Despite Undyne’s subdued mood, Alphys was all too happy to skitter about her, and that was only partially because she’d probably replaced half her blood with caffeine at this point.

            “H-here, sit, take a seat w-wherever you want,” she babbled before she dove into the mess on her desk while Undyne kicked Alphys’ bed to unfold and sat on it. “I just need a minute—aha!” Rather than try to wrap her surprise up, she merely cupped it into her hands and whirled about to scramble over to Undyne’s side. “Here!”

            Undyne’s eye widened as she stared down at the pitch-black orb in Alphys’ hands. “Whoa, is that-? Oh shit, so you actually got the stuff you needed yesterday?”

            “I did,” she admitted gleefully, but then bit her lip when she looked up to see Undyne’s expression. “D… do you… not like it?”

            Undyne shook herself. “What? No, no! I was just—really surprised. Can I, uh, try it on? Out? You know what I mean.”

            “If you want.” She waited for Undyne to remove her eye patch; once she had, she very carefully slipped the false eye into the socket. “S-sorry it’s not the right color. I just don’t have much of a choice with my supplies being what they are.”

            At least Undyne finally laughed. “No, Al, it’s awesome. It’ll probably look intimidating this way. So, uh, how do I make it work?”

            “Hold on.” She scrambled back to her computer and booted up a program. “I need to activate it first and then it needs a few minutes to acclimate to your magic. Once it does, you can control it like you would a normal eye.”

            “Oh, sweet. I was wondering how I was going to do that.” She froze as the eye made a noise—the gizmos inside it suddenly humming to life. A pinpoint of white blinked on as it came online. “Shame I can’t see out of it.”

            Alphys frowned and walked over to examine the eye as it slowly began to twitch, trying to follow Undyne’s pupil in her other eye, but the movements were small and sluggish. Still, it was a promising sign—Undyne’s magic was already filling it and it was adapting nicely. “I have some ideas for that in a l-later model.” She grimaced; if there would _be_ a later that is. “B-but I don’t think I could manage that while we’re all still trapped down here. I just don’t have the s-supplies or facilities for it now.” That was only a half lie— in the time since Undyne had lost her eye, Alphys could in fact try with her new setup, but the odds were four to one that the surgery to install the eye and the electronic implants to transmit the visual information would kill Undyne while she was still on the table. Her hope was just too low to risk it.

            Undyne smiled thinly. “Well, that’d be pretty fucking sweet. Let me know as soon as you think you want to try it.”

            They wasted a few minutes talking idly while Alphys watched the eye’s pupil gradually become faster and more mobile until at last it was smoothly following Alphys’ finger as she moved it about. “It’s tracking nicely,” she said with a bit of pride as she took a step back. “S-so, would you like to t-try it out?”

            She got one of Undyne’s toothy grins in reply. “Let’s take this bad boy outside and fire it up.”

            They relocated just outside the Lab’s backdoor. Local monsters were smart enough to not try and linger—they all knew that anyone dumb enough to try and break in there or even loiter usually got shot by a painful laser, one powerful enough to dust the weaker monsters. Standing back there, Undyne glanced back at Alphys.

            “So, uh, how do I fire this thing?”

            “It’s simple really. Just look at the thing you want to shoot at and build up magic like you would to fire a bullet pattern, but instead of focusing the magic outside yourself like you would a bullet, focus it in your eye. Then, and keep the target in your, uh, sight, fire it would like your bullets.” She paused and then turned to her quickly. “When you want it to shut off, cut it off like you would if you need to stop one of your bullets. Don’t try to, uh. Close your eyes or cover it with your hand.”

            Undyne frowned at her. “What would happen if I did?”

            “It’d b-blast your hand off.”

            Undyne blinked. “Oh. Good to know!” She paused and seemed to focus in on something in the distance; the white pupil of her eye began to glow a bright red. “Okay, focus and—hey, I think I feel it— _guh!”_ She yelped as her head jerked back as a bright, red laser blasted into the distance. When she moved her head, the laser jerked upward as well, wheeling wildly into the darkness before it abruptly shut off.

            Alphys had squeaked in horror; now she rushed forward to Undyne’s side, calling her name. “Oh my god, are you alright?!”

            After a long paused, Undyne looked down at her, natural eye wide. Then to Alphys’ shock, she _giggled._ “Holy fuck. Holy fuck! That was— _shit_. I didn’t realize it’d kick like a fucking horse, goddamn.”

            Alphys winced. “Oh god—I’m so sorry! I should have w-warned you-”

            “Holy shit,” Undyne cackled. “Does your cannon kick like that too when you shoot it off? God, no wonder you need your tail to brace yourself against the ground when you do it. Fuck!”

            “A-are you okay? Here, let me—oop!”

            Undyne scooped her up into her arms; Alphys’ face burned as she grabbed Undyne’s shoulders to brace herself. Undyne’s face was barely an inch away from her own. “That was fucking amazing, Al! Shit, I think I took out a chunk of the mountain doing that! This is so awesome. You’re the best, Al, no joke. No one’s going to know what hit them when I pull this little baby out.”

            _She always looks so happy when I make these things for her,_ she thought in a daze. _One of the greatest warriors that monsters have ever produced and she praises me like I’m the one worth something._ And then, in the back of her brain, a quiet little voice spoke up. _One day, she’s going to be gone. Her hope or her luck is going to run out. I just hope it’s only after we escape._

_One day’s she going to be gone._

_This might just be my only chance._ She didn’t even take the time to figure out what “this” was; without a thought, she leaned in and

            Her mouth was on Undyne’s and

            _(God, this is so much better than I ever thought it would be_ )

            She blinked and pulled back to see Undyne blink at her. _Welp. Now, I’m going to die. Totally worth it, but now I’m dead, I’m going to die. Fuck, I never finished Mettaton’s body, he’s going to be pissed. I should have at least said sorry for that. Oh fucking well._

But the spears didn’t materialize around her and stab her through. Instead, Undyne just blinked at her again before her lips stretched into a wider grin. “Oh shit, today just keeps getting better.”

            Before she could ask what that meant, Undyne’s mouth—wonderful and perfect as the rest of her—was on Alphys’ and the scientist’s brain quietly flat lined in bliss.

 

 

 

 

            For the next three months, Undyne’s hope had never been higher. She even regained some of her hit points. There never seemed to be enough time in the day for each other though, only stolen moments, maybe a few precious hours before Undyne made Alphys sleep like a normal functioning being.

            Then Undyne got attacked again. “Finally got to use that laser,” Undyne grunted, but without a trace of pride or mirth. She tapped her eye patch. “Dusted him in an instant. Luckily, no one else was around, so no one else knows about it yet.”

            “It’ll give the next one a nasty surprise,” she said and then instantly wished she hadn’t.

            Undyne’s hope began to drop again, albeit much slower this time around. Alphys didn’t want to assume it was her and their new relationship that made the big difference, but in her heart she hoped it was. If nothing, it meant that it might keep Undyne stronger for longer.

            Still, it felt like an omen of awful things to come. The thought made her sick to her stomach until she wanted to clap her hands to her head and shut the world out. There had to be _something_ she could do to stop it—there had to be. _I can’t… lose her. None of us can. There has to be a way._

            It was her job to fix things. If she couldn’t fix this, then what was the point of it all?

            And then, in the depths of her panicked thoughts, she got a phone call.

            The next morning, she rose reluctantly early to go with Undyne to New Home. Undyne insisted on walking her to the castle—she had to go there anyway and ambushes tended to happen early in the morning when other people might still be groggy from sleep. Still, it felt like something a less fucked up version of the world might have been like. In another world, maybe they could go on a walk together, except they wouldn’t have to worry about someone trying to sneak up and kill them.

            There was a crisp chill in the air—unlike Hotland, New Home actually had weather patterns due to the giant hole in the side of the mountain. It must have been getting close to winter because there was frost in the windows and their breaths steamed out of their mouths. They entered the castle, walking for a ways together until they at last reached the fork they had to separate at and looked at each other.

            (In this moment, it is Before. Before she talks to Asgore. Before he explains he wants her to duplicate her “miracle” with Mettaton, that he wants her to create a human soul to be the last piece they need. Before she agrees, greedy for the chance that might lead to freedom or at least a cure for Undyne’s hopelessness—human souls are so impossibly strong and they might hold the answers she seeks. Before her theories. Before the discovery of Determination and the realization that it must be what’s keeping Undyne alive. Before the “fallen down” monsters come. Before the Amalgamates. Before despair. Before the silent resignation to keep searching. Before injecting more and more monsters. Before the flower disappears.

            Before another Soul exits the Ruins, the flower by their side. And then dies. And dies. And dies.

            Before.)

            Before they separated, the two shared a smile. “I’ll see you later, Al.”

            “See you tonight.” It’s a promise, a casual reminder that she tried to say often in hopes that it might ingrain some sliver of hope, something to look forward to. They lingered, for a moment, and then turned. Alphys squared her shoulders and walked forward to meet Asgore.

 

 

 

 

            Alphys no longer really remembered why she became a scientist. Had she wanted to help others, or just herself? Had she forgotten from her own neglect, or had it been tied into her old boss and his disappearance?

            (Did it matter anymore?)

            This was what she did remember: she remembered being small, digging through the human trash in the dump, pausing to look up into the dark ceiling of the Underground, to the shiny stones that glittered in the dark, and wishing she was on the other side of the barrier. She remembered the joy of the first time one of her machines worked once she flipped the power switch. She remembered the fierce pride and delirious shock she felt when she saw Asgore, looking at Mettaton, at her masterpiece, and seeing his undivided attention—and awe.

            She remembered kissing Undyne like it was seared into her brain.

            She remembered looking at the shambling form of the Amalgamates, lonely, horrifying and thinking _they’re like children in a way._ She remembered her own childhood and quietly swore that they’d never be soldiers. She remembered that she still kept injecting Determination, still kept searching.

            She remembered the day an adult human stepped out of the ruins, the familiar flower by their side, and thinking _oh thank god, it’s not a child._ And then thinking _oh god no, it’s not a child._

It’s those things she tried to hold onto as the Soul walked towards the Lab, Undyne already disappearing back into Waterfall—alive and whole and safe, safe, _safe_.

            If she can keep remembering these things, maybe she will live. Maybe Undyne will live. Maybe by tonight they will be walking out of the Underground, side by side for just a moment before Undyne has to leave to help lead the army to reclaim the surface.

            Alphys took a deep breath and waited.

            Out in the other room, a door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention it last chapter, but the titles from both of these chapters come from a song called Toy Soldiers by Martika. The lines come from the chorus:
> 
> "Step by step,  
> Heart to heart,  
> Left, right, left  
> We all fall down  
> Like Toy Soldiers.  
> Bit by bit,  
> Torn apart,  
> We never win,  
> But the battle wages on  
> For Toy Soldiers."


	9. And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too is when I fall in love with you

                It happens in small ways. A mug of hot coffee waiting in the morning, already fixed exactly the way it should be. A cigarette lit and handed over without a single word exchanged. A door held open, a window shut. Falling asleep pressed against each other’s side, the nightmares driven away for another night.

            But sometimes they fall fast, like a fledgling taking that first hop to flight—the weightless moment, the sudden drop, that odd feeling of plummeting to doom only to even out and find it wasn’t so bad as it looked. Always following that dizzying moment is that soft breath released, pure relief, although whether joy or fear follow after is left to the whims of chance.

            All the same, they always tumble, head over heels.

 

 

 

 

            For the first time in a week, there’s no nightmares tonight. Frisk isn’t lucid enough to appreciate that entirely, but they’re aware enough to note that it’s a nice change of pace. The dream they’re having is a silly one—while Frisk has never had a dream where they flew, they’ve had plenty where they can jump clear to the stratosphere before drifting safely back down, over and over. It’s nearly as good as flight and it’s an old favorite of theirs.

            Then something shifts below them and they are falling faster and faster, but they aren’t not yet afraid, and then

            Frisk opens their eyes and frowns up into the dim light. Judging by the quality of the light, not even Papyrus is awake. Here in New Home, the city lights brighten as dawn approaches, but right now the shadows are a faint charcoal gray light that means they still have hours left before they need to wake up. They are just about to wonder what woke them when something shifts just below their cheek.

            They raise their head and wince at the terrible pain in their neck from where they’d slept at a poor angle. Frisk rubs the side and pauses when they realize they’re still in the clothes they’d worn yesterday—they try not to wear their work clothes to bed, but somehow there they are. They put the confusion out of their mind so they can inspect what was moving below them.

            Looking down reveals the source instantly. _Well,_ they think, _I think it’s been a few months since I woke to find a bedmate that stayed the night._ (Actually, that was a lie of sorts—Asriel and Chara both had terrible nightmares and ever since the two of them woke Frisk one night, Frisk had told them to just come wake them up if they needed company. Since then, they’d woken up to find Asriel curled against their side. But this was not the young monster smashed up against them now.)

            Frisk considers the curve of the skull below them before glancing further downward. They both still have their clothes on— _how boring_ , a mischievous voice in the back of their mind speaks, prompting a wry smile.

            _So, he must have conked out too,_ they muse as they let one hand rest against the side of Sans’ skull—he slept unusually peacefully aside from a few twitches. _Probably just too tired to drag his ass to his own bed._

            Well, speaking of being too tired to get up. With a soft sigh, they wriggle away from him so they could settle into a more comfortable position. Beside them, they hear him start to shift again as well—perhaps they woke him up in all their moving. As if to apologize, they rest their head against his thigh, pressing the back of their head against his stomach—they still don’t understand how his magic seems to fill his clothes, but that was a mystery they’d never been able to figure out, so it wasn’t new. “Sleep” they mean to say, but instead they say “sleepy” and pat his leg before their body starts to feel heavy again, dragging them back down into unconsciousness.

            Just before they fall asleep entirely, they feel a hand rest on shoulder. They smile to themselves and sink down.

            In their dreams, they’re back to jumping. This time they rocket past the stratosphere until gravity loses its grip on them and they float among the stars. They wonder idly if this is like flying and let themselves drift on, weightless.

 

 

 

 

            Every weekday morning, the household has the same routine. Papyrus wakes up at six o’clock and starts his day, meaning that by six thirty he is downstairs. He starts making lunches for himself and Asriel—as long as he doesn’t use actual machines like the stove, oven, microwave, or toaster, he can usually handle a meal. It means a lot of sandwiches and cold snacks, but that’s really the best anyone could expect out of him. By seven, Asriel and Chara are awake and join him for breakfast—thankfully, both children are fairly reliable with cooking devices, so they can be trusted to make their own breakfast. By seven thirty, Papyrus starts a pot of coffee going. Their coffee machine is an ancient, unreliable thing that splutters and protests, but still gets the job done by eight.

            At eight, Frisk drags themselves out of bed to go beg Papyrus for a cup of coffee. Really, he hates the stuff, but still Frisk still pleads mostly because they know it amuses the kids and flatters him. Eventually, he hands a cup over and lets them doctor it up—caramel syrup, creamer, and sugar until it’s less coffee and more like funny tasting hot chocolate. For a while, the three chatter to each other while Frisk slowly wakes up.

            Sans is never awake before nine and so he usually misses saying goodbye to his brother and their ward. He slinks into the kitchen, steals the rest of the coffee, pours a liberal amount of rum into it, and then Frisk watches in amusement as he tries to wake himself up before they have to leave around ten o’clock. Usually, he wakes up enough by nine twenty to get back up and go get dressed with them; his clothes are still kept in his sham of a bedroom, so he stays downstairs while they go up to change. They meet back up at the bottom of the stairs before they leave for the Castle.

            Today, though, they both pause, him looking up at them, they looking down at him. They both frown.

            “Okay, we can’t go to work like this,” they announce, reaching up to tug on the lapel of their red shirt. Even their shirts are the exact same hue along with the fact they’re both in black slacks and black jackets—this world’s color palette is inescapable and very confining.

            He glances down at the cuff of his jacket. Wait, did their socks match as well? Damn if they hadn’t done that too. “Anyone who sees us like this will eat us alive.”

            They nod. “One of us has to go change.”

            Quickly, he shoves his hands into his pockets and grins up at them. “I nominate you.”

            They frown. “Why me? Your room is right there. I’d have to go back up the stairs.”

            “Because if you make me go get out of these clothes, I’m not going to put new ones on.”

            They raise an eyebrow and grin. “Are you saying I’m going to have to drag you to work half dressed?”

            “And punish the whole Castle?”

            They scoff and press a hand playfully to their chest. “It wouldn’t be a punishment for _me.”_

            He snorts. “Pass.”

            Amusingly, they just sigh. “Goddamnit. Gimme five minutes.” Quickly, they turn and walk up the stairs; he tilts his head to the side and enjoys the view until they disappear into their room. A few minutes later, they reemerge—they ditched the jacket entirely and swapped their shirt out for a black shirt with white pinstripes, adding a black vest and a thin red tie instead. “Acceptable?” they ask, as they come back down.

            They’re looking vain, but he still admires the neat lines of their pant legs—the tailor might not be able to do much for him, but the guy went into fits of joy when he got to work with Frisk’s long lines. The pants showed off their legs, even if it meant that Frisk complained about tiny pockets.

            “You’ll break hearts, babe.”

            “Flatterer,” they chuckle and loop arms with him as they pull him towards the front door. “Continue.”

 

 

 

 

            As it turns out, monster alcohol might have some recovery magic in it, but mostly it acts the exact same way human alcohol does. Frisk made a terrible mistake and now they are paying for it. Their head is toilet bowl, hacking and groaning. From past experiences, they know they are not a pretty sight—snot is probably running down their nose and their eyes are bloodshot. The foul taste of the bile from the human food they’d eaten with the alcohol in hopes of keeping their stomach settled is burning their mouth, twisting their lips in weird shapes.

            The only comfort they have is the coolness of the sides of the toilet bowl and Sans holding their hair out of their face. They hadn’t asked him to come—they’d barely had time to bolt to the bathroom before dinner made a reappearance. He follows a few minutes later, perhaps to keep a low profile, perhaps because he doesn’t want to hear the awful retching noises, but he pauses outside the stall door before he casually pushes it open.

            “Well, on the bright side, at least you managed to get sick in one of the three places in the entire Underground that actually has toilets in them,” he offers, almost cheerful as he squeezes in behind them.

            They have to chuckle at that, even as their stomach finds new ways to twist itself into knots. “Lucky me.” It turned out that when Chara had been alive, a few places in the Underground had been equipped with toilets, almost entirely for their use. Now that some human goods could be brought in easier, including human food, the toilets were being used not as novelty pieces but at the functioning fixtures. That was half the reason they’d come to this place in the first place.

            “I should think so.” Finally, he cleared his throat and tapped their boot with his foot. “You need something or should I leave you to puke your guts up in peace?”

            “Since when have you ever given anyone a moment’s peace?” they manage before another wave hits and they’re reacquainting themselves with their lunch. They try to shove the hair out of their face, but it’s all they can do to maintain the death grip they have on the toilet seat.

            He must have seen the aborted attempt to get their hair out of the face, because they feel his phalanges card the hair out of the way until he can pull it all into a messy ponytail. It’s something of a surprise since he almost never touches their hair, let alone run his fingers through it—too easy to get his finger bones tangled and they can hear him now, grumbling as he tries to free himself from a knot already.

            It’s a small mercy, to not have to worry about their hair being coated in gunk. They’d thank him, but they’re too busy emptying out their guts at the moment. Once they finally catch their breath, they try to not wipe their snot onto the back of their glove before they can grab some paper. “Ah, fuck, I feel like I’m eighteen again,” they say as they finally blow their nose.

            “You often blew chunks in toilets when you were eighteen?” he asks idly and they’re a little surprised he’s still pulling their hair back. They aren’t complaining though—there’s a bit of a breeze now on the back of their neck that feels wonderful.

            “Ugh. No parental supervision. I ran fucking wild.”

            He chuckles and presses his cold knuckles against the knobs of their spin on the back of their neck—he must have chilled them against the metal walls of the stall. “Sounds like you have some stories you should tell me sometime.”

            They coo in appreciation at the chill, but all too soon his bones are warmed by their skin, so they pull away and put their face against the side of the toilet bowl—they are delighted to note it’s by far the cleanest toilet bowl they ever pressed their face against. “Another time. God, I love you.”

            There’s a stilted silence followed by a forced chuckle. “Yeah, well, you better.”

            They smile and don’t have the heart to tell him that they were actually talking to the toilet bowl.

 

 

 

 

            It is winter in New Home, the first one Sans or Papyrus or Frisk has ever seen. Both Asriel and Chara had seen it, but that was ages ago and practically another world. His brother is a little annoyed to escape Snowdin only to get hit by more snow again, but at least it’s weather they both know how to deal with. Papyrus and Asriel could run around naked and be fine in the snow, but Sans has to bundle up or the chill will creep into his bones. Frisk just likes to keep cranking the heat up, despite Papyrus and Asriel’s complaints. He doesn’t snitch on them when he catches them in the act, just shakes his head at their guilty grin and walks away as they turn the heat up again.

            Frisk mostly loses the war with the thermostat, but Asriel and Papyrus are both late today and Frisk and Sans didn’t have to work for once, so the house is toasty warm. He doesn’t even need his sweater for now, so he’s splayed out on the couch, content up until he hears Frisk start to curse.

            “Where is my goddamn—Sans! Have you seen my coat?” they call, poking their head out kitchen.

            It’s in the wash—he’d accidentally spilled some mustard on it, but rather than own up to it, he just shoved it into the washer before Frisk found out. It probably needs to be moved over to the dryer now. Still, he’s not going to say as much right now. “I dunno. Check your room?”

            “I’d _never_ put my coat in my room,” they drawl and he knows that’s true. Their coat stays by the peg on the wall, next to the door. Their habit of leaving shit lying around is as bad as his sometimes, but the coat is _always_ by the door.

            He shrugs and tosses one arm over his eyes as if to block out the lights. “Then just take someone else’s.”

            They make a clicking noise with their tongue that lets him know they’re amused and exasperated with him. Better not to annoy them much longer though. “Well, yours is the only one here right now. Can I borrow it?”

            He lifts his arm up to glance at them. “What do you even need a coat for anyway?”

            “It’s trash day tomorrow. I told Papyrus I’d have most of the trash taken care tonight.”

            He shrugs again and lets his arm fall back down to cover his face. “Whatever. Knock yourself out.”

            “ _Fan-_ tastic,” they chirp and disappear for a moment go collect the trash bags before they reappear and head to the door. As they arrange the bags, he pulls his arm aside to watch them slip the coat on.

            He’s far heavier set than them, but they’re taller than him by a good head, so the coat doesn’t look entirely ridiculous on them. Their arms are long enough to poke out of the sleeves at least and rather than waste time fiddling with the zipper that’s missing two teeth, they just swaddle the coat to them. They look… better than they should, all things considered.

            “Be right back,” they call, collecting the bags and squeezing out the door.

            While they’re busy out there, he should get up and run to toss their coat over into the dryer. And he will, in just a moment. Right now, he’s trying to decide what to do about the sudden, fluttering heat in his chest as the sight of them in his coat burns itself into his brain.

 

 

 

 

            It’s July and only three days have passed since it was officially decided that monsters were now mostly safe to rejoin the Surface world of humans. It’d taken months of reeducation and some stern limits on the monster side of things and months of meetings and preparation on the human side before things were settled. Frisk and the others had been ready to move into their new house that first day—they’d picked it out ages ago and everyone was quite pleased with the idea that they didn’t have to worry about the floors rotting out from under them anymore.

            But, tonight it seems like the new house has set off something. Despite everyone’s agreement that it’s a vast improvement over the Ambassador’s House in New Home, the change in environment has finally hit Sans as he slept. Or at least that’s what Frisk assumes as they wake to the faint rattle of bones against their side. They blink into the darkness of their room and realize it can’t have been that long since they just laid down, tossing their papers aside in favor of slumber, and yet Sans has already fallen into a nightmare. From the sounds of his grunts and the hitches in his breath, it must be a nasty one.

            Frisk considers their options then slides their hand—gloved even now, but fingerless gloves this time since they miss the feeling of running their fingertips over things—under his shirt, lace their fingers into his ribcage, palm to sternum, and shakes it hard enough that they hear his bones rattle.

            He wakes up with a startled _“guh!”_ , mostly because their fingers are uncomfortably close to his soul, although they’re careful not to actually brush against it. They’d yet to meet a skeleton who didn’t flinch at the idea of someone physically touching their soul. Still, he’s awake and that’s the important thing.

            “Sans,” they call, “you were having a nightmare.”

            “Fuck,” he whispers into the darkness, shivering, his hand flying up to grab theirs. He doesn’t pull it away, more like dropping his weight against it to try and pin their hand there. “Yeah—uh—fuck, I was.”

            Rather than remove their hand, they reach with their other hand to press the back of their fingers to his cheek, making him turn his head to them. They frown to see there’s only one light in his sockets, the battle ready left eye glowing like a red lamp in the dark. “You’re awake now.”

            He nods, but behind his one red iris they aren’t sure he believes them just yet.

            Giving up their own hope for a swift return to sleep, they pull their hand from his face and instead work their whole arm under his head and neck to circle him, to push the nightmare further away. “Just breathe, love,” they say, just as they would to Asriel when he comes to them, shivering.

            He draws breath like he’d forgotten how to do it properly, his ribcage expanding while his hand pressed theirs down. Almost as if he was still trying to make sure if they were truly there or not.

            They watch him, waiting for his breathing to calm, but even as it slows, they can tell it’s only because he forcing himself to. His eye remains battle ready. Biting back a sigh, they run their thumb over his cheekbone, putting all the tenderness they can into the gesture. “Do you want to talk about it?”

            From the way he glances at their hand suddenly before flickering back to their face, they know what he’s been dreaming about—or rather, who. “No,” he says, firmly and he closes his eyes rather than let them see that he’s still prepared for a fight.

            Frisk frowns; they also occasionally have nightmares of the chilling figure in the void, but from the few choked answers he’s managed since then, they know he has far more to dream about than them. They have little in the way that they can do to comfort him, so they pull him close to rest their foreheads together. “I am here. _You_ are here. We are _all_ here. But he is not.”

            He shudders, eyes still closed, and leans into them. “He is not.” Slowly, he pulls his arm out from where it’d been pinned between them and grasps Frisk arm, the one holding his ribcage. When he opens his eyes, it’s gone back to two smaller dots. “But you _are_ here?”

            They wonder if he’s actually asking for the _other_ Frisk, but only for a moment. Instead, they pull back and press a kiss to his brow, before bracing their forehead back against his. “ _I am here.”_

            He takes another shuddering breath and closes his eyes. Tomorrow morning, they’ll both be tired and sore from the awkward positions they fell asleep in, but for now they are too busy keeping fear away to care for such petty problems.

 

 

 

 

            “Beautiful,” someone says besides him, and Sans smile turns wry as he leans against the rail just above the dance floor.

            Beautiful? Maybe—no, _yes_. Frisk _is_ beautiful, but not in a classic sort of way that most humans prized. Frisk twisting their words about with a cheery smile until they left the other side confused but charmed is beautiful. Frisk swaying as their fingers danced over piano keys with Chara, or guitar strings with Asriel, carefree and bright, is beautiful. Frisk dodging and weaving between bullets—Frisk _living_ —is beautiful. Frisk is at their most beautiful when they are an object in motion. Out on the dance floor like tonight they certainly are a thing of beauty, but right now there is a pause between songs and Frisk is busy laughing with their latest dance partner—Mettaton—so they are mostly still at the moment. But they’re still glowing with exertion from their night of dancing and there’s mirth dancing in their eyes, so he can still see the point. “Yeah, you could say that.”

            There is a startled giggle next to him, making him pause. “I, um, wasn’t talking about the ambassador.”

            He blinks and turns to really look at who’s speaking to him. It’s another monster, some young, girlish being of green fire who is gazing at him so pointedly that he realizes two things very quickly.

            One, the girl is talking about him. And really, _wham_ , the girl’s already struck out. Him? Beautiful? Even Frisk at their kindest wouldn’t say such a bold face lie—maybe at their most mischievous, but that’s another matter all together. The poor girl’s obviously deluded.

            Two, the girl looks familiar because there was a picture of her standing next to her father pinned up to the back wall of Grillby’s for years because, oh fuck, this is Fukufire and Grillby is going to fucking kill him.

            (Also, she’s probably fifteen at the most and he’s got some goddamn standards, that aren’t so easily met as some people he could name.)

            “Uh,” he tries diplomatically, and he’s doomed already. Any moment now, Grillby is going to swoop down and roast him until his bones crack and pop open. He looks around the room in a panic. “Well now.”

            Fukufire doesn’t have much of a mouth, _takes after daddy that way_ he thought in sheer terror, but as she leans forward, she seems to be smiling coyly. “Do you dance, Mister Sans?”

            Suddenly, like an angel from a prophecy, Frisk hops up to the little ledge of the raised floor they’re on and tosses their arm over the hand rail to grab Sans by his shoulders. They beam at Fukufire, all sweetness as they drag him over the side. “Sorry, honey, but our Sans’ dance card is full tonight.”

            Before either he or Fukufire could protest, Frisk yanks him over the railing and pulls him onto the dance floor. He looks up at them, tension fall off like deadweight. “Bless you, babe, I think you saved my life.”

            They shoot him a grin. “You trying to get yourself killed? Grillby was literally ten seconds away from reaching you.”

            Stupidly, he glances back to see Fukufire pouting at them while Grillby is literally simmering behind his daughter, glaring dead at him. He tightens his grip on Frisk’s arms as they keep dragging him away. “Fuck. What say you we skip out early so I can live to see another day?”

            Suddenly, their smile is all mischief and if he had a stomach, it would be knotting. “Leave? Oh, no no no, my friend. Remember?” And then, one of their hands are at his side, the other is clasping his hand and they’ve already pulling him into a waltz. “I said your dance card is full. Don’t make me a liar now.”

            He grimaces and bites back a laugh. “You lie all the time! You’re a politician, babe.”

            “Shameless flatterer,” they purr and away they go. In a bit, Frisk will take pity on him—he really, honestly cannot waltz to save his life—and pull him away so they can sneak back home. But for now the two of them are a whirl of motion and as the world spins, Sans thinks back to before and thinks _beautiful._

 

 

 

 

            This is just embarrassing. He turns over and then has to kick the sheets off because they’re binding his legs in their twists. He cannot lie still tonight and he cannot find a single place in the goddamn bed that is remotely comfortable which is baffling because it’s _his_ bed. Or rather, it’s Frisk’s, but seeing as he sleeps there so much, it’s pretty much half his already.

            All this moving has made him hot; glaring up at the ceiling like its fault he can’t get comfortable, he kicks off the blankets as well. He considers getting up for a moment, so that he can adjust the air conditioner to a more comfortable setting, but then dismisses it out of hand. He is _not_ getting out of this bed; tonight, he will not surrender.

            It’s entirely a matter of principle at this point. He isn’t going to get out of that bed, because he has the damning suspicion that if he did, he’d find some excuse to not get back to it. Maybe in the morning he’ll claim it was his insomnia making a dreaded return for the first time in nearly a year. Right now, he’s more concerned with not giving in.

            Because if he gives in, he knows that he’ll have to figure out why he can’t sleep—and he already knows _why_ he can’t sleep. He’d just rather pull his own teeth out with a rusty pair of pliers than admit it.

            Because it’s embarrassing. Because the truth is that he can’t sleep because Frisk is gone. Gone on a business trip—unfortunately, conflicting schedules meant that the only times two important politicians would have been available was at the same time, and one refused to do the meeting unless it was in person.

            Frankly, Sans got the better end of the deal—he got to stay home and deal with the someone who he’d already known, a national politician with a pleasant enough demeanor and a quirky sense of humor that made him hard to insult. Frisk, on the other hand, has to go deal with the more temperamental politician, and honestly it is probably best Sans isn’t going to be there for that meeting because he probably would have ended up ruining the meeting on purpose after a few minutes of exposure to the other politician.

            Still, the bottom line is Frisk is gone—Frisk who somehow always knew the perfect temperature to set the room at, unlike Sans who’d obviously set it too high, who was always warm so even it was cold outside the blankets, at least it was cozy inside. Frisk, whose steady heartbeat could lull him to sleep faster than any other noise he’d known yet—he didn’t even have a heartbeat of his own to listen to, not that it would have compared. Because nothing—nothing—compared to the steady sets of _thump_ s. Human heartbeats meant at least one thing: life. When the nightmares got bad, when he woke up tasting blood, at least he could chase the memories away with the sound of their breathing and their constant heartbeat. And when he dreamed older dreams, of another, frailer Frisk, he would press his skull to their chest and try to breath. _Thump-thump_ ; he hadn’t failed. _Thump-thump_ ; they were alive and he wasn’t alone again.

            There is no heartbeat tonight, no gentle rise and fall of breathing, no easy warmth to seep heat into his bones, chasing out the cold.

            _(Tomorrow night, Frisk will be home early. They will all be happy to be reunited, but no more so than Frisk, who looks like something one of Papyrus’ cats dragged in. When asked, they will answer that they got done early mostly by pulling out all their charm because they had no intention of sleeping in a hotel room for two nights in a row, mainly because they hadn’t slept at all on the first night. When they go to bed that night, Frisk won’t even try to pretend to want to work, just instantly announce they want to sleep. Sans will be happy to oblige, even if they spend five minutes arguing over who’s elbowing who in the side while neither one bothers to move an inch.)_

            Looking up at the ceiling, Sans settles in for a long night and turns over onto his side again with a growl.

 

 

 

 

            It starts around their eleventh month into their—stay? Residence?—of living in this strange new world. It starts small, just an idle thought during a meeting. While the monster world was drastically different than their world, the human side of things seemed pretty identical. _But what if it isn’t? What if Rome or Mexico City or Tokyo are different in some weird ways?_

            They don’t think much of such thoughts at first. But then those thoughts begin to mutate and creep into situations where they have no right to be bored—at dinner, they take a bite of Papyrus’s typically burnt pasta and think of eating falafel in middle of an Egyptian street. During a lesson with Chara, they hit a sour note on the keyboard and Frisk’s fingers twitch at the memory of dancing in a crowd in Budapest. Sometimes they are only walking down a sidewalk with Sans, the two of them smiling and Frisk’s mind whispers _run._

            Their fingers start to twitch; they pull them into fists to try and hide it. Sounds begin to irritate, so they begin to enjoy the silence of the balcony as much as they can. Their eyes drift to the horizon though, and there is no stopping.

            Eleven months. They have not stayed in one place so long since before they turned nineteen. Since a few months after their Sans—their Original’s Sans—cracked their world open and tossed them into reality. After that, even after they came home, they couldn’t bear to remain in one place for more than two months. And yet, they’ve somehow managed eleven here; they hadn’t even thought about it until the thoughts began to intrude. It’s wearing on Frisk’s soul to be honest—they are needed, wanted here. There is no reason to go.

            And yet a voice whispers _not forever, you won’t be. Run. Get while the getting’s good._

            They know the others are starting to notice. All these thoughts and twitches and pulling back, they’re starting to notice the silence. In a way, Frisk is trying to send out the warning signals. They wonder if anyone will actually recognize them for what they are.

            And then it happens. It is Friday and for once the weekend is theirs alone—no meetings, no plans. Asriel and Chara have a project they’re working on for school and Papyrus has already agreed to do whatever he can to help them. Sans had been looking forward to slacking off. Frisk didn’t plan anything because by then the itch had set in and they know it’s inevitable. They already have the exit plan—they will announce they’re going to pick up some cigarettes, grab their motorcycle, and just go.

            Where to, they have no idea. But it most likely will just end in the middle of a road—they plan to drive as far as they can then turn around because they plan to be back by Monday. They are still needed, but not for this weekend. And hopefully this will satiate the itch for now. But they must go soon—they’re losing daylight and it’s taking everything Frisk has not to just walk out the building and start walking as far as their shoes will let them before they blister Frisk’s toes.

            And then Sans speaks, gathering up the papers they’d been going over and shoving them haphazardly into Frisk’s briefcase since he refuses to care one. “Do you want to just go?”

            They blink at him. “Well, yeah, I mean, it’s not like we have anything else after this-”

            “No,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “I mean, do you just want _to go?”_

            Frisk feels a chill spread in their chest and they don’t even know why. “…like, to dinner or a bar?”

            He shoots them a flat look, but his smile is twitching in amusement; some of the chill recedes. “No, babe. I mean, I’ve been here four goddamn months and I’ve barely seen anything of this place. I’m asking do you want to get out of this fucking town and _go_ somewhere?”

            _Vacation?_ Their brain suggests and it makes their heart lurch. They haven’t had an actual vacation in… well. Technically, they _have_ had vacations, or at least they’d said they had, but in truth, those times where just like now—just them running because if they’d stay, something in them would snap. But a vacation with other people? For some reason that sounded— _wonderful._

            They start to smile and then pause. “What about the kids and Papyrus?”

            He waves them off again. “They’ll live without us for a weekend. So, do you want to?”

            Frisk is already smiling.

 _(They go home, change clothes, leave a note for Papyrus and the kids, and then climb onto Frisk’s bike. The engine revs and then they are flying. Frisk can’t tell if Sans yelps or lets out a whoop as they skim the ground when they lean into turns, but as his grip tightens on their waist, Frisk grins. They are damn near flying and all they can think as Sans readjusts his position against their back is_ god I missed this.)

            “Alright,” they chirp, grabbing the case while he stands. They swing their elbow into his arm as they walk past, still grinning. “You owe a proper honeymoon anyway.”

            They laugh as he starts to choke, reaching back to pull him forward and then pat him between his shoulder blades. When he is finally breathing properly, they toss an arm around his shoulders and tug him along. The road is waiting and it’s not waiting for them alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is late--me and two other people in my family got sick, so we've all felt pretty crummy. But I'm mostly on the mend now.
> 
> Frisk isn't the best roommate, which you can kinda see here--they keep playing with the thermostat for one, but their habit of just leaving stuff lying around comes from the game itself. You can drop items on the ground, but you can't get them back, even important items, like Undyne's letter--that'd be a super annoying habit in a roommate.
> 
> The whole chapter takes place over the course of a year. There was actually another section, but I cut it out. Perhaps I'll post it later, as a bonus somewhere.
> 
> Funny, for a chapter about them falling in love, this kept coming out pretty lowkey, almost platonic. I just gave up and went with it. Chapter title comes from the song "When I Fall In Love" by Nat King Cole.


	10. Paint

            Pencil against paper. Gently press down and swing it about. Chara smiles, patient, and adds another line. _There_. A perfect petal. Pause to glance up at the flower in the vase. Frown and look back down at the picture; suddenly, the line is no longer quite so perfect. With a tiny sigh, they reach for the thick nub of the eraser and wipe away their work. The eraser looks more like a dirty lump of used gum than the brilliant white eraser that their mother handed them a month ago. Their mother isn’t mad though. She said it shows that they’re putting it to good use.

            They smile to themselves; Toriel is good and kind. _The exact kind of mother anyone would want._

            They’ve already made something for their mother though. Right now, they want to make something for their father. A proud, mountain of a being—Asgore towers over anyone Chara’s ever seen at nine feet tall. And yet, Chara has been into his garden, has seen the king press tiny seeds into the ground and coax green shoots out with gentle patience. Kneeling in the dirt with Asgore, coaxing life from rich earth, makes them feel a little closer to the kind figure who took them in.

            A flower then—one of Chara’s favorites from Asgore’s garden. A dahlia with petals so dark, they’re nearly black. Pencil in hand, Chara begins again.

            As they work, they think. They still need to decide what to do for a picture for Asriel. They frown as they work. Asriel is a… tricky person to think of a present for. For one, he doesn’t seem to like anything Chara draws. More than once he has sneered at Chara only to rip up the pictures that Chara had labored over with cruel twists of his hands.

            For another, Chara’s pretty sure that Asriel just doesn’t like _them_ at all. It’s not just the pictures that Asriel tears up.  He’ll knock the cups of hot chocolate that they offer to him from their hands. He’ll stamp flowers under his feet when Chara hands them to him, even if they only meant the flowers as something he could give to their mother. He sneers at their offers to help him on his homework before he tries to demand that they just hand over their homework so he can copy.

            For some reason, nothing Chara does pleases Asriel. But that in and of itself isn’t a new experience. It’s just a little more vexing because this time the rest of their family likes Chara just fine.

            But maybe they’ve just been coming at this the wrong way. Chara wasn’t sure what he could offer to Asriel to please him, but maybe they just haven't tried thinking far enough outside the box. They’ve been offering him things that _they_ like—chocolate, flowers, help with homework. Maybe if it was something they knew he likes already, maybe then he’ll like the present. But what to give him?

            They pause and glance at their adoptive brother. He is busy, working on his own picture. It’s that same silly avatar that he’s always drawing; it’s supposed to be himself, grown up, and—a superhero? Chara isn’t entirely sure. He’s drawing himself in his family royal robes, but very outlandish ones, with giant collars and a waving cloak, and a pair of rainbow colored swords.

            It’s just very. Silly? Chara was never good at playing with other children, but they’ve also never really into the idea of superheroes either. They pause. Reconsider.

            Maybe that wasn’t entirely true. They weren’t so much into the idea into superheroes, but power fantasies? When they were little—well, _littler_ —they’d have daydreams of some far off time in the future when their family would turn and look at them and not see straight through them, or maybe some great fortune would rain upon them and their family would regret how they treated Chara. And later, grimmer fantasies. Of all those cloying, desperate people vanishing. Of people just leaving them alone. Of humanity just vanishing off the face of the planet.

            So. Maybe Chara does understand.

            And maybe that’s where they should try. They smile, soft, thinking of something they can do—but after they’re done with this picture for their father. The dahlia was actually coming out nicely for once. Just a little more work and then

            _Plip._

            Their eyes go wide. Something thick and viscous coats the back of their head, spreading fast. Trickles down their neck. _Plip_ it goes and something splashes down onto their picture.

            Paint, they realize. Blue paint. Their picture is ruined—probably their shirt too. Their hair is already clumping together. It stunk as well, making their nose crinkle.

            Slowly, they sit up. Instinctually, they want to reach back to see just how much has gotten on them, but they know it’ll only get it all over their hands too. They curled their fingers into fists to try to resist.

            A snigger.

            Closing their eyes, they turn and glanced over their shoulder, a clump of wet hair sticking to their face. Behind them, fingers still clutching the can of paint, Asriel’s lips are quivering as he tries to hold back his laughter. The moment their gazes meet though, he loses what little control he has, throws back his head, and howls with laughter.

            Chara silently blinks. Now their fists are shaking.

            He drops the can to clutch his stomach, still laughing at them. “Oh, gosh, if you could see your face! _B-blue’s really not your color!”_

            The shaking shoots up their arms until their shoulders are shivering now.

            That seems to catch his attention. At first he pauses, considering them, then he sneers. “Oh, man, don’t tell you’re going to start _crying_ now are you?”

            The sheer audacity nearly stuns them. As if this boy in front of them doesn’t cry at least once a day—usually over something stupid like when he literally spilled his milk. They can feel their skin nearly vibrating.

            Asriel glares. “Oh, knock it off! It’s not a big deal—you can just wash it out. What a baby.”

            _That was not watercolors, you little idiot,_ they long to snap. _That was acrylic._ It is taking all their admittedly short patience to not take that can and start smacking him with it. _What an annoying child. Surely, he has no brain to actually rule monsters. What a joke. Perhaps Toriel and Asgore would realize what a pain he is if he just vanished._

            Asriel stares openly now. “Um. Chara?”

            They had tried _so hard_ to be likable for him. To show Asgore and Toriel that they were willing to try. To try to fit in. But no. That would never be good enough for this little brat.

            But didn’t mean they had to stand for it. And in the depths of their heart, something ugly rears up. Something _laughs_ and their lips twitch upward.

            A tiny, startled gasp. The sound pierces through the red mist boiling in their brain and they see Asriel, gaping at them. They blink and start to take a step back, but then they feel paint trickle to the small of their back and it takes everything they have not to leap at him then. _I am going to beat his head in. I’m going to grab that can and I’m going to bludgeon him until-_

            “Wow,” Asriel breaths, tilting his head at them. “How are you doing that with your mouth?”

            They blink. “What?”

            He shivers and Chara has no idea why. “That! That—thing! It, uh, was like a smile—but not?” He paused and then his face lit up. “It was _wicked_.”

            _What._ “What?”

            He rolls his eyes, but for once the expression doesn’t look disdainful—more like amusedly exasperated. “The—the creepy face! Can you show me how to do that?”

            Chara blinks and considers it. Paint is dripping down their back, moving swiftly to their pants. For months, they have tried everything they could think of to be this boy’s friend. To make nice for Asgore and Toriel’s sake. And now, at just the moment they began to plot his demise. Now is the time he wants to be friends—and it’s because of said plotting.

            Life is very strange.

            “Alright,” they say, surprising even themselves. He perks up before them and they get an idea. “But first,” they begin and reach back over their shoulder and grab a quick handful of the paint as it sloughs down their back. Before Asriel can even guess what’s happening, Chara flings it at him.

            It splatters his face and clothes, making him yelp and jump away. For a moment, they almost hope this will give them an excuse to beat the snot out of Asriel, who’s gaping down at himself. But then the boy laughs and dives for the can to scoop out some more paint.

            Toriel groans and lectures them later over the mess they made in the playroom before sending them to go wash. But secretly, she is pleased as she watches the children trod off, for once not squabbling as they go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FinalNights asked for some Chara+Asriel interaction from before or after their deaths; I decided to go with the major turning point in their relationship, the moment they became friends.
> 
> Chara's narration style is fun, but challenging to maintain. Oh well. Sorry if this is way shorter than usual, but I'm still catching up on my workload. This was a nice breath of fresh air.


	11. Blast from the Past

            Frisk glanced up and for a moment, the world stopped turning. Existence narrowed to a single point just above their head, hanging down from a tiny plastic hook on a metal rod. As their fingers brushed over the fuzzy yarn, the world crept back in, but Frisk was too busy admiring their find to notice.

            Long, tight knit, and the perfect shade of red—they might have well been holding an exact duplicate of Papyrus’ scarf. Not this world’s Papyrus, but the one from Before. How many times had they seen a scarf like this flapping in the wind, trailing away from his neck as he drove down the road? Crystal clear memories of watching the ends whip through the air above their head, trying to grab them so the ends would stop smacking Undyne in the face—Sans always rode shotgun on those trips, it was always Undyne and Frisk in the back, although sometimes Mettaton rode back there as well. Smiling wistfully, Frisk rubbed their thumb against yarn, half tempted to take off their gloves just to roll the fabric against their bare fingers.

            “Human, why are you so enamored with that thing? Are you going to buy it?” Papyrus asked, suddenly filling the empty space on their left side—or had he been there all along and they’d never noticed?

            Frisk smiled apologetically just to be sure as they held the scarf up. “Just a scarf. What do you think of it?”

            Papyrus frowned, leaning back as he examined the scarf—they noticed that the shopping basket hanging off his arm was full, so he must have been waiting on them for a few moments at least. “The color’s not bad,” he offered charitably. Still, he frowned. “Terrible idea to take with you into battle though—it could fly in your face or your opponent could grab it. Not practical.”

            Chuckling, Frisk nudged him with their elbow. “It’s not _for_ battle—it’s for cold weather.”

            _“Are_ you cold?” he sounded suspicious; Frisk had to resist the urge to smile. They had the feeling that if they did say as much, he would scold them for not having dressed more warmly before they left the house. It was adorable to see the tough looking skeleton fuss over others though.

            “Well, no, but maybe I could use it another time. Or as a sash. It might look nice like that. Although,” they murmured eyeing the length. “Hmm. Might be a tad too short for that. Nice thought though.”

            Papyrus snorted. “Considering the amount of knitting her majesty seems to be doing lately, you could probably just get a free one out of her.”

            Frisk paused to consider it; Toriel _had_ been sending over a lot of knitted things lately, but most of it had been small, obviously meant for Asriel and Chara. Not that Asriel had been inclined to use them—usually they gathered dust although with the weather turning, Papyrus had taken to clucking after Asriel to wear some of the items. “Maybe. But those things are for Asriel and Chara. She may not want to make me something.”

            “Then ask Asriel and Chara to ask her.”

            Frisk frowned. “That would work, but don’t you think that it’d be a little manipulative?”

            He rested his fists against his hips, looking more stubborn than stern. “He could use it to break the ice between them.”

            _That_ was a decent point. Neither Toriel or Asgore were getting younger now that Asriel had returned and started to grow; despite Asriel’s reluctance and what they themselves had said during their talks, the prince didn’t have all the time in the world to reconcile. Maybe a gentle push could get communication going again, and while Asriel might be reluctant to do it on his own, if Frisk asked for something small, he’d probably give it a shot. _He’s a sweetheart like that,_ they thought fondly. If nothing, Chara might do it and that might get the ball rolling. “Maybe. I’ll talk to him when we get home.” Distracted by planning what they would say to the boy when they got back, Frisk entirely missed what Papyrus said. “Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry, Papyrus—could you say that again?”

            The look he shot them was strictly unimpressed, but he refrained from scolding for once. “I said, _why_ that scarf? It’s not like you’ve ever mentioned wanting one before.”

            “Oh. Well, it reminded me of—of someone. Kinda couldn’t keep my hands to myself once I noticed.” Frisk glanced back to it and felt a smile tug at their lips as another fond memory crept into their mind. Of a winter day, more than a decade ago, back when they were small—the day had gotten chillier as it went, surprising them all. Papyrus had noticed how red their ears had become and kindly offered them the use of his scarf.

 _“After all, I, the Great Papyrus, am a skeleton and we do not feel the cold. Here, dear human, let’s get you safe from the chill!”_ He’d then wrapped their head up practically into a ball, but it was the thought that counted. Chuckling at the memory, Frisk let their fingers slide off the scarf.

            “Frisk,” Papyrus grumbled in a tone that let them know that he’d was getting annoyed by constantly fighting for their attention. “I asked _who?”_

            Frisk stopped before flashing him a guilty smile. “Sorry, it’s just… well, the Papyrus from that world, he wore a scarf. Kinda like how you wear your bandana?”

            Papyrus’ eye sockets narrowed as his gaze slid from their face to the scarf. He glared at it a moment before scoffing. “Then that Papyrus was a fool. He’d get himself killed in battle with such a stupid thing. It probably would get him choked in no time.”

            Frisk opened their mouth to defend their oldest friend, but before they could get a word out, Papyrus reached up and pulled his bandana off, lifting it over his head. Surprised, Frisk could only stare as Papyrus dropped it over their head and then quickly settled it into place over their shoulders.

 _“There,”_ he huffed. “If you must wear something around your neck, wear that. At least no one will be able to grab you with it.”

            Frisk blinked down at the bandana, the memory of other Papyrus wrapping his scarf around their neck overlapping with the here and now. Heart aching, Frisk gently touched the bandana. Taking a breath, they turned their face up to the skeleton and smiled. “You’re so kind. Thank you, Papyrus.”

            He glared at them, torn between happiness for appreciation and annoyance for being so happy about it. With a grumble, he decided to ignore both emotions before reaching out to grab Frisk’s arm and then dragging them away. “We have wasted enough time. Let’s get our stuff and go already.” Over his shoulder, he could hear them laugh.

            Gently shaking his grip off their arm, they quickened pace and linked arms with him, smiling cheerfully. “You’re right. Mettaton’s show is supposed to be on at eight and we still got dinner to make.”

            He froze before quickly digging out his phone. While Frisk waited patiently, Papyrus checked his phone for the time and quickly cursed. “We’re leaving now!”

            Laughing again, Frisk scrambled to keep up with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late--I actually forgot what day it was. This is actually from a short story I couldn't get to work right (continuity issues) where Frisk would keep being reminded of their past, but I liked this bit, so I chopped the rest and went with this. I'll have a longer chapter next week.


	12. Beware The Man Who Speaks In Hands

            Frisk doesn’t remember when they lost their boots. It might have been in Waterfall, when they took them off to put on the ballet slippers. The slippers, though, scared them—the fabric a dark, startling red under the dust coating them—so they took them off. Did they put the boots back on after that? They couldn’t remember. After they lost the boots, they lost one entire leg of their tights, so now one foot is permanently barefoot while the other only has the thinnest bit of fabric covering it.

            Even Sans thinks they look pretty pitiable without footwear. They decided to play that up in this last run and put the ribbon back in their hair, hoping monsters might hesitate to murder them at every turn. Surprisingly, it’s working pretty well, all things considered.

            Or maybe it’s just that Sans is keeping a closer eye on them this time around; they’re never sure how much, if at all, he remembers from their previous runs, but he’s always up to something different. This time he’s being very careful about them. He even loaned them his coat so they aren’t freezing for once; at the thought, they tuck their toes under the hem of the coat and reach down to rub some life into them.

            They’re supposed to be sleeping now, but rest eludes them. The Underground is darker than usual, and while that doesn’t mean it’s actually night, it’s easier to sleep then. Next to them, Sans snores on, chin tucked against his chest, but they know if they move too much, his red eye will flash in its socket as it fixes on them. Even Flowey is napping, tucked against their collarbone, safe under the folds of the coat. Frisk is tempted to press their fingertips against his roots, just to be  sure that he’s really there, but they don’t want to wake him. In the last run, Asgore’s halberd ran him through his face, leaving them screaming before Asgore cut them down as well. Right now, he deserves some rest.

            They try to focus on something more cheerful; usually, making plans for the future is enough to cheer them up. When they first fell into the mountain, their first plan was to find some way to explain their way out of this mess and then they planned to walk back down the mountain and start hitchhiking to wherever they could get that was as far from mountains as possible. Kansas maybe—that was supposed to be a very flat place, wasn’t it? That dream had started to shift soon after. Firstly, they started imagining getting to a beach where they could then swim as far as they could out into the ocean, far from any mountains as possible. But then reality set in more and more and they would have just settled for lying in a sunbeam like a contented cat. They had also started imagining scenarios where they’d found a way to take Flowey through the barrier as well—together they could lie in the sun. He’d probably like that, being a plant and all. Chara would come with them as well, being that they were just a voice in the back of their head. They wished they could introduce Chara and Flowey. Frisk thinks that they and Flowey would make good friends.

            They have really started to grow fond of the idea of them, Flowey, and Chara all resting in some rocking chair, Flowey in a flowerpot next to them, the sun drifting down. The image has given them a lot of comfort thus far.

            Its magic is wearing off now though. The sun is becoming a distant memory and Asgore looks as undefeatable and uncompromising as ever.

            Next to them, Sans lets out a real snore. Frisk glances over at him; their lips tremble, almost twitch up in a smile, but even that feels like too much work. So, instead, they let their eyes wander back forward and they stare at the gray brick before them.

            ***You are losing hope.**

            Frisk closes their eyes as Chara’s voice echoes in their brain. _No, I’m not. I’m just… tired._

***…**

***Either of them would speak to you. If you would just turn to them first.**

_No, Chara. They’re tired too._ They resist the urge to sigh, lest it wake either of their physical companions up. _I’ll just deal._

            ***If you insist. But you should note that you need not do this alone.**

They force themselves to smile, not that they’re entirely sure Chara can tell what expression they’re wearing at the moment. _I know. Thank you. I just… I’m just tired._

***Then you should sleep.**

 Frisk sighs through their nose; Flowey shifts against them and they freeze. _I’ll try. I’m just… not… that kind of tired._

Chara doesn’t dignify that with a response and instead falls mercifully silent. Frisk tries not to sigh again and just stares up at the ceiling.

            If the old scenarios aren’t working, maybe it’s time for a new one. They’d really like that idea of the three of them—Frisk, Chara, and Flowey—being out on the surface. Maybe it’d be nice to include Sans as well. It makes little logical sense, but it’s a nice thought. But when they try to craft the mental image, it won’t come. At last, they just have to admit that Sans probably wouldn’t come. Say they do get past the barrier, they know that when they turn to him, he’ll only nod before turning his back on them. He’s just looking after them for awhile, as he says, but more than that it’s not like he’s going to be much safer on the surface. Even Mettaton—and oh, god, poor Mettaton, the fight and that final explosion is always going to haunt their nightmares—would have been better suited to the surface.

            So instead, they try to imagine this: somehow, they are going to talk Asgore into letting them escape. Maybe even talk him into using the human souls to let Flowey out too. When they get past the barrier, they will flop onto the ground, and lift their hands in thanks as the sun warms them. And then maybe they’ll call Sans on their phone, let them know that the surface is as beautiful as they remembered. They will sit there, on that mountainside, soaking in the sun until their skin burns and peels.

            They try to imagine. But the images don’t come.

            Frisk pauses and glances at Sans again. It wasn’t just Flowey who died horribly in the last run—they can still remember that horrible look of acceptance as the halberd swung down and he shattered into dust particles before their eyes. He looked so _ready_ then. It makes their stomach churn just thinking of it.

            Sans is in a deep sleep now—he twitches, perhaps dreaming. Frisk silently wishes him kinder dreams and then stands.

            The motion startles Flowey into wakefulness, but before he makes a noise, they press a finger against their lips in a request for silence. They take one last look at Sans, tuck his coat around their shoulders, and then silently pad away on bare feet.

            Flowey stays quiet as they leave Sans behind—he still doesn’t like Sans, probably never will. That used to bother Frisk—now it just seems like one more thing that never changes in this place.

            Frisk lets their feet lead them, walking the gray cobblestone path away from their shelter until they reach the winding upper road of the upper levels of New Home. Below them, the cavern yawns open to reveal a dreary city cut from gray stone. There’s no lights on in the city—curfew’s strictly enforced in the monster cities—so the buildings are dark blobs rising up towards the hole in the side of the mountain. The path is hard to follow in the shadows, but they’ve walked it so many times now that their feet can find the way even in the gloom.

            Once they are far enough away, Flowey speaks. “We’re leaving him behind?”

            It sounds cruel when he puts it that way, but Frisk remembers his face as he accepted his doom and shudders. “I just… want to try something different this time.”

            Flowey’s quiet as the castle looms into sight —they try something different _every_ time. The only thing that doesn’t change is their reluctance to hurt others. For a while there, Flowey had admired that determination to not harm others. Now he’s back to trying to convince them that Asgore, at least, isn’t worth the effort.

            “Okay,” he says at last, “what are you going to try different this time?”

            They can see the gates now. The gates to the castle are open—apparently, once a human appears in the Underground, Asgore orders the gates left open in case a human manages to actually make their way to him. He is the last stop on the path before the barrier, so every human must come to him. They are the first to make it all the way to him on their own in a very long time though—all the others had been captured and brought to him.

            Six other humans; six children. Frisk can still see their souls floating in the jars—Green, Yellow, Orange, Purple, Blue, and lastly, Cyan. The blood splattering Cyan’s container always looks the freshest—it’s the hardest to look at.

            “Frisk?”

            They swallow and straighten up. “I got an idea.”

            “…and are you going to tell it to me?”

            Frisk grimaces. “Flowey, do you mind sitting this one out?”

            Flowey twitches violently, tightening his grip on their arm with his roots. “Uh, _no_. You’ve gotten farther with me there these last few times than you have any other time.”

            This is true, not that it means much—last time they lasted a whole three minutes and that was with Sans there helping. But Flowey did help, calling out when Asgore was going to strike and how to avoid.

            At the same time, Frisk has no intention of letting him be around for this one. “Look, Flowey, just let me try this once, okay?” They try to smile. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t leave you behind.”

            He just glares. “Is this because I died in the last run?” Unlike Sans, Flowey has a perfect memory of what happens in former runs. As horrible as it is to remember their own deaths, they wonder how many memories just like theirs he has. He never seems to have nightmares or trouble sleeping like them. “Look, forget that. Shit happens. Whatever happens this time, we… we’ll worry about it next time.”

            He doesn’t even sound discouraged and barely even resigned—he accepts his inevitable death as surely as they do the sun coming up each morning. Still, they’re more stubborn than he is—if they weren’t, the power to reset would be his now.

            (What would happen, they wonder, if they did just let him have the power to reset back? Could he figure out a better plan? Could he find a way to get through the barrier? Would he find the power to strike Asgore down where they cannot?)

            (Would it just be better to hand their soul over now and be done with it?)

            ***Frisk.**

***Stay determined.**

            Frisk coughs, forcing their mind from their dark pondering. “Flowey. Please, let me try this on my own.”

            Flowey is quiet for a long time before his roots on their shoulder loosen swiftly. Before they can catch him, he drops to the ground, burying his roots instant into the loose dirt that had been blown there by the wind. “Real gratitude,” he grumbles. “Fine. Do it your way. But next time, we’re trying _mine_.”

            Somehow, they manage a smile for him. They can only marvel as they turn back to the path to the castle that somehow he still believes that there will be more times to try and try again.

 

 

 

 

            They know the inside of Asgore’s castle well. There is one room that’s always locked, a few that look like no one’s ever in them, and then a child’s room that disquiets Flowey and Chara alike. There’s a strong locket in there and a knife, but Frisk does not bother to get either of them.

            There’s no point to any of that anymore.

            Instead, they walk the path through Asgore’s home into the heart of the castle. He’s not in the throne room—he rarely is—and instead they squeeze out the secret door in the alcove. They make their way down the stairs outside, battered by the wind as it slams into the side of the castle. One time, they tried to walk this path during a raging storm and was knocked straight off the path. Luckily, they made good time on the next run and now they don’t have to worry about the storm again—there are faint rumbles of thunder outside the mountain, but they are soft and distant for now.

            They pause at the bottom of the stairs, gazing down at their feet before they finally lift their eyes up to spot the hidden green house. It seems so out of place, like an ill kept secret. Still, inside is a lovely variety of plants, arranged in tasteful ways to bring out the best in each plant. The first time they’d seen it, part of them wondered how Asgore could be so horrible to humans and monsters alike, and still so good to these inanimate things. They don’t wonder anymore. But it will be nicer in the greenhouse; they can enjoy a few sweet moments of green and calm if they’re quiet enough not to make Asgore notice them immediately.

            But first, they need to take a step forward. Frisk closes their eyes and has to count their breaths until they find the will to put one foot in front of the other.

            Somehow, they reach the door. They step inside and admire the foliage around them. Inevitably, they are drawn to the patch of golden flowers in the heart of the green house; the patch looks just like the ones in the Ruins that fell on so long ago. Frisk imagines just laying down and breathing in their scent for awhile until the world ebbed away around them. Without a care, they stepped carefully into the middle of the patch and gaze down at the gold around their ankles.

            Asgore’s halberd prods them immediately in the back. “Turn slowly.”

            Frisk gazes thoughtfully down at the flowers before doing exactly as he says. When they look up at him, they realize his face and scowl is already achingly familiar. They know he had a son once—did he ever smile upon that boy when he was alive? He must have, because why else would he look so tense now? “Hello, your majesty.”

            (It’s only polite to turn and greet a new person.)

            He glares at them and jabs them with the spike of his halberd right in their sternum. “Walk.”

            They feel the flowers brushing against their legs and let their eyes fall shut. _This is as good a place as any._

***…Frisk?**

Unconsciously, they knit their brow. They feel bad now—they could leave Sans, send Flowey away, but Chara has to stay with them every time. How unfair that is.

            “Walk,” Asgore orders again, jabbing them hard enough that the spike catches on the yarn of their sweater.

            They open their eyes and look up at him. “I’m not going to fight you, Asgore.”

            The Overlord glares. “Then die here.” He lifts the halberd.

            Behind him, the green house’s door slams open. _“Frisk!”_ Flowey cries, popping up next to Sans’ feet—either Sans woke up and got Flowey to show him where Frisk went, or Flowey went and woke the skeleton to chase after them. Either way, part of them is a little pleased to see that they’re willing to work together.

            Mostly, they’re sad—they wanted to avoid them seeing this. Now Asgore will turn and kill them next, unless they escape in the confusion. They hope so.

            The halberd comes down.

 

 

 

            The world is mercifully black. Here, in these moments after they die, they rest in the comfort of silence and nothing. Nothing harms them here, nothing to trouble them.

            Except.

            Sans and Flowey saw them die. Will they have sense to run away?

            Frisk doesn’t know. They hope, but their hopes are so often in vain.

            It isn’t fair.

            Thinking of Flowey, Sans, and Chara, Frisk lifts one hand helplessly up into the darkness and calls out one last time for help.

            No one ever comes.

 

 

 

            But this time, someone does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written very little about actual Fell!Frisk, so I wanted to try something from them. This was originally much longer--it was going to cover their entire journey, but that was too long and not particularly interesting. There was also some scenes after the end here, where Frisk and Gaster talk over the terms of the deal and then Gaster creates actual Data!Frisk--but again, too long, not particularly interesting. Oh well.
> 
> I actually drew some chapter art for this one! I got a new art program and wanted to try it out. Here's one picture from the start of the chapter, with Frisk and friends trying to nap: http://last-haven.tumblr.com/post/162683168684/so-i-got-a-new-art-program-yesterday-and-spent
> 
> And here's one that'd be cover mock up for this chapter. Unfortunately, tumblr made it blurry, but I'll figure out a way around that later. http://last-haven.tumblr.com/post/162399744239/fanart-of-a-backstory-event-for-the-world-upside
> 
> Next week should be another request chapter. After that I think there'll be six or seven more chapters unless people come up with more requests.


	13. Who Wants to Live Forever?

            Frisk paused as they walked into the living room, coat still hanging off their arm, looked around at the three monsters sitting on various perches, and frowned. “Okay. What happened? I was only gone for a whole minute to grab my coat and you all look like someone died.”

            The look on Sans’ face usually would have been enough to make them think he’d done something, but the look of sheer unease made him appear innocent for once. Papyrus also looked uneasy.

            Asriel—no, _Chara_ , on the other hand, sat very stiffly on their end of the couch. And from the way they quickly glanced away from Frisk made the ambassador think that at least one of their wards had gotten into some kind of trouble.

            “Chara. Glad you could join us.” Frisk put one hand on their waist. “I’m still waiting for an answer.”

            “Dinner!” Papyrus shouted, jumping to his feet. “I need to go get dinner started!”

            Frisk shot him a baffled frown. “Papyrus, we’re going out for dinner.”

            “Nonsense! A home cooked meal, that’s far better for you,” he retorted, but the way he kept fidgeting with his clothes, his gloves, and his bandana took out any of his credibility. “Yes, that’s right! I’ll go get started right now, so… bye.”

            Frisk had to duck to avoid being run over as Papyrus hurried into the kitchen. They frowned after him, but when they turned back they saw the faint flicker of magic as Sans vanished from sight. A faint thump from upstairs gave him away; he was in their bedroom. Frown deepening, they turned to look at Chara. “Okay. Last chance. You want to tell me what happened?”

            This time, the guilt showed freely on their face. _Oh boy,_ Frisk thought, tired already, _this is going to be one hell of a doozy, isn’t it?_

            “I…” they began, meekly. “I had no intention… I was not trying to cause a problem.”

            “Well, that’s nice. Are you going to tell me what you _did_ or not?”

            Pure misery flashed over their face and Frisk’ annoyance abated for a moment.

            Sighing, Frisk tossed their coat on the back of a chair. “Stay put. I got a feeling you and I are going to be having a little chat in a bit.”

            Chara nodded glumly. “Can I at least go sit in my room?”

            “Don’t get caught up in anything too important,” Frisk warned. “Be ready to talk when I get in there.”

            Again, Chara nodded and slid off the couch. They wandered towards the stairs and took each one like they were walking up the gallows.

            It would have been melodramatic if they hadn’t done something to really freak out the brothers. With a sigh, Frisk waited until they could hear Chara and Asriel’s door shut and then climbed up the stairs as well. They glanced at the children’s door with a bemused shake of their head and opened their own door. Inside, the room was empty, but Frisk didn’t give up. Since Sans had few reasons to use a bathroom, they didn’t bother to check there and instead went straight to the balcony.

            As they thought, he was sitting on the wicker bench, smoking a cigarette. They opened their mouth to speak, paused, and then frowned when they saw how furiously he was puffing away at the smoke and how a tremor shook his hand. Just what the hell had Chara done to spook him so bad anyway? Rather than waste time, they cleared their throat. “Perhaps you can explain what the hell just happened down there?”

            Sans paused, gazing down at the balcony’s floor before finally glancing upward at them. He stared as they waited patiently until he at last sighed. He glanced away, towards the lights flickering on in the streets below. “That kid is fucked up.”

            “Well, all things considered, that’s not much of a surprise,” they replied, walking over to take a seat next to him. “They both had some pretty rough times in the past, so whatever happened, I’m going to need a little more to go on.”

            He was quiet for a long moment before he looked up at them. “Frisk, are you one hundred percent _sure_ that kid isn’t going to hurt anyone? You included?”

            Frisk blinked at him before looking away. Once, a lifetime ago, they murdered their way through the underground before Papyrus stopped them with his kindness and courage; during that run, they felt a growing darkness in them, egging them on as they went. They’d never been entirely sure whether that darkness was their own or Chara’s, but they could remember Chara dismissing Papyrus coldly out of hand at first before they decided to spare him. After that, the cold darkness retreated until Frisk committed themselves to trying once more, heart set on doing no harm that time. After that, Chara had resolutely urged them forward towards pacifism.

            That had been their own Chara. This world’s Chara was a little different, but not by much. They had a quiet, steady nature, a soul full of determination, a mind that missed nothing, and deep love for Asriel. There were notes of darkness—a hatred for humanity, an unwillingness to forgive others or even themselves for past wrongs.

            But that was not all that was there at all. Chara had a sweeter side as well; a thoughtful nature, a wry sense of humor, a general fondness towards monsters that persisted in spite of everything, and a kind affection to the ones they loved. How many times had Chara come to them with a cup of Chara’s favorite hot chocolate during those nights with their long bouts of insomnia, a patient smile that stayed on their lips as they stubbornly made sure they drank it all? How many times had they silently taken Frisk’s hands in tense moments, even when they desisted being touched by others?

            With a smile, Frisk turned back to Sans. “I’m sure I have nothing to fear from them. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

            He watched them for a moment, quiet and thinking until at last he looked away. “We were all just sitting there, waiting for you to come back. Asriel said something—I don’t remember what it was. That you looked nice tonight maybe?”

            “Well, we were going out to dinner.” They frowned—this meant they got dressed up for nothing.

            “Something—it must have been, because he added something else. That you always look good, I think?”

            Amused, Frisk smoothed a crease forming in their pant leg as they crossed their legs. “That was sweet of him.”

            “’s weird if you ask me.”

            “Oh, Sans, he’s eight years old,” they huffed, trying not to chuckle. “Do you know how many crushes I had on people at eight years old? I was an accomplished flirt by then.”

            That got a chuckle out of him, despite his dour mood. “You must have made a _load_ of people super uncomfortable.”

            “Oh, tons. I even flirted with Toriel. She just thought I was a funny little kid.” They smiled as he choked on a laugh. “At least he doesn’t flirt with me outright.”

            “Yeah, well, still weird. Anyway, I said… I think it was ‘Yeah, they probably will until the day you outlive us all’.”

            All humor died as Frisk whirled around to face him properly. _“Sans!”_

            He leaned away from them, sweat on his skull—even he knew that it had be wrong. “I didn’t mean it come out like that.”

            “Sans, again—he’s _eight_ years old!” they snapped. “So what if he’s got some crush on me—it’s barely puppy love and probably more to the fact that he and I shared an incredibly stressful journey that led to one hell of a positive turn around for… everyone, really.” They shook their head and leaned back into the bench. “There was no need to tell him that he’s going to have to watch us all die of old age while he lives on. Keep saying stuff like that and you’ll give the poor kid a complex.” _Asgore and Toriel are going to think we’re all terrible people and I’m a terrible guardian and I’m not going to be able to blame them for that. Shit, I’m going to have to talk to him as well now. Poor kid._

Shaking their head, they turned back to him with a sigh as they reached into their pocket for their own pack of cigarettes. “Alright, well, what happened after that?”

            Sans shifted again; the bench squeaked in protest. “Whatever Asriel thought, it must have set Chara off because all of a sudden it was Chara looking at me with that creepy smile of theirs.” Frisk tried not to sigh again; Sans seemed to have a special talent for riling up Chara. “Before I could say anything they looked at me and said ‘Yes. It is possible that we shall outlive all of you. But you should know. It’s not like Frisk shall live forever, either’.”

            Frisk froze, frowning. Well, at least it explained why the brothers had been so unnerved. Perhaps they needed to include a talk about not trying to prove a point by scaring other people. It also probably hadn’t helped Asriel either. _Ah, I can’t even leave these people alone for a minute, can I?_

“Ah, well.” They paused, glancing up at the darkening sky. “Okay, well, I think I actually get what they meant.”

            “What?” he asked, voice sharp. When they looked at him, there was no anger in his face, just confusion.

            They cleared their throat and leaned over, kindly. “How long do skeleton monsters live?”

            His brow knit together. “What you mean? Like if we aren’t killed?”

            “Yes, exactly.”

            He paused, his expression shifting as he was forced to consider it. “Fuck, I don’t actually know? There’s a few of us still around from before, you know, the war. Pretty long, I guess.”

            They nodded. “Yeah, that’s not that far off from… well. To be blunt, you’re probably going to live for at least a few centuries, right?”

            He froze before running a hand over the curve of his skull. “There was some research… stress like what we were living through, it can and will dramatically shorten a monster’s lifespan.” He dropped his hand back to his lap. “But, if nothing else goes wrong? Probably at least a few centuries, yeah.”

            Their chest felt tight, but they nodded anyway. “Humans live… well, a human might live to be over one hundred,” they explained, tugging him closer, as if proximity might take the sting out of the words as he flinched. “Medicine’s come a long way, but human bodies just aren’t meant to last forever. We just start to fall apart over time.”

            His face was blank, his smile so small it was more of a grimace than a smile. “You… do you think you’ll live that long?”

            They paused and glanced down at the pack of cigarettes in their free hand. “Eh, probably not if I keep smoking these. They killed my grandfather in the end—that means there’s already a weakness in my genes against it.” They smiled, trying to lighten the mood as they squeezed his shoulder. “Guess it’s time I moved over to monster cigs, huh? At least they won’t kill me.”

            Instead of being comforted, Sans was too busy staring at the pack of cigarettes like it was a ticking bomb. Silently, he reached into his pocket, drew out his own pack, then reached out for theirs. Frisk let him take their pack and then accepted his as he pressed it into their hands. Then, to their amusement, he hurled their pack over the side of the balcony before they could stop him. “Hey! That’s littering, you know.”

            His glare took them aback for a moment. “No more of those. I’ll just buy more packs when I get mine.”

            They almost chuckled, but they could still see the worry in his eyes. Instead, they ran a hand over the curve of his skull and pulled him closer to press a kiss to his temple. “Alright. No more human cigarettes.” That was a shame—actual tobacco tasted worlds better than monster kind, but then they could still see the fear in his eyes. They felt a stab of guilt for being so calm about it and patted his shoulder. “Just monster cigs from now on. Okay?”

            “Yes.”

            They paused, glancing at him. “Sans? You going to be okay?”

            He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the floor of the balcony for a while. “I don’t know,” he murmured finally. It sounded like defeat.

            Frowning, they pressed another kiss to his temple and gave him a squeeze. “Sorry if that was indelicate, but I thought you knew about human lifespans. It comes up a lot in… all of our media, really.”

            “I just… never really thought about it before.”

            Face softening, they took their free hand and used it to turn his face to meet their gaze. Once their eyes locked, they spoke. “Look, whatever happens, I’m not dying today and I’m not dying tomorrow. So we have time.” They patted his shoulder and released his skull as they let their hand drop. “I’m also one of the most determined bastards alive, so I’m not going to drop dead from anything either.”

            He looked away. They started to frown, but then he leaned against them; quickly they wrapped their arms around him in turn, rubbing his back as soothingly as they could.

            “Sans,” they murmured after a stretch of silence. “Are you alright now, love?”

            He shrugged and pulled back. Despite the comfort he sought in their arms, he still looked shaken. “Yeah, I just. Need a few minutes. To think.”

            Frisk frowned, but then bit back a sigh. They’d told Chara that they wouldn’t take too long, but here they still were talking to Sans. Chara wasn’t one to worry themselves into a fit, but Asriel might be getting scared. Reluctantly, Frisk patted Sans’ back and stood. “You take some time. I need to go talk to Chara. Figure out what do with… them, I guess.” They paused and pressed a hand to his cheek. They tried to get him to look up at them; instead, he closed his eyes and leaned into the palm of their hand. Knowing him, that was entirely on purpose, but they weren’t sure what it meant. They bit their lip and sighed. “I’ll be a few minutes. Do you want to talk after I’m done with them, or will you need more time?”

            He shrugged, eyes still shut.

            Their face fell a little more, but they hid it by leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Call me if you need me.” They waited for him to nod, which he did after a long moment, then turned and walked back out of their room.

            They crossed the hall, gave Chara a polite knock of warning, and then opened the door.

            The child was sitting on their bed, a book still lying open on their lap. They looked up, face glum, as they stepped in. “How much trouble am I in?”

            “Well, less than you probably think,” they sighed, walking over to the bed. “May I join you?”

            Chara, face carefully blank, pulled their legs back even thought there was plenty of room on the bed.

            “So,” Frisk began after they plopped down onto the bed. “You freaked our boys out pretty bad with that little stunt.”

            “I didn’t mean to,” they muttered, voice soft as they fiddled with a corner of the page between their fingers.

            “Yes, well, you still did it.” They paused to study them. “Do you know _how_ you freaked them out?”

            They winced. “They thought I was threatening you.” They looked up at them, face suddenly serious. “I was not. I only meant to remind them that it was not as if he was going to get any more time with you than Asriel will.”

            Frisk nodded. “Yeah, well, apparently, they didn’t actually know that.” They watched Chara wince. “Or at least Sans didn’t, which probably means Papyrus didn’t either. So, whatever you said, it flew over their heads.”

            “Oh,” they murmured, voice small. “I… I am sorry. I thought they knew.”

            With a sigh, they stood. “Well, they didn’t. So, here’s what we’re going to do. Since you didn’t mean any harm and didn’t cause any—well, any that wouldn’t have happened later anyways—we’re going to just let this one go. But. I want you to apologize. To the _both_ of them,” they added quickly as Chara sat up, hope flashing in their eyes; just as swiftly, Chara’s shoulders slumped. “Why don’t you go start with Papyrus first though.”

            Chara nodded and sat their book aside. “Okay. Do you think he is mad at me?”

            “Well, I’d say more upset than mad,” they admitted as Chara climbed off their bed. “You still should go apologize. I believe he’s still down in the kitchen.” Before the child could dart off, Frisk cleared their throat; when Chara looked back, Frisk spoke again. “Asriel, how’re you doing?”

            For a moment, the eyes in the child’s face changed from red to brown; Asriel looked miserably out at them. Without a word, Frisk opened their arms and Asriel flew into them.

            “I’m sorry,” Asriel murmured into their shoulder. “It’s all my fault.”

            “Oh, no it’s not,” they retorted, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Sans was rude to you, and you didn’t deserve that. Chara shouldn’t have been rude back, but they and I can talk about that later. But are you okay, love? None of this could have been much easier for you.”

            Asriel sniffled. “Frisk, please take care of yourself. D-don’t let something bad happen to you. C-cause, if—if you did die, I… I…”

            Frisk closed their eyes. Was he thinking about Chara’s death from before? Or was this some new horror that had been conjured up tonight? They were going to have to schedule another visit with his and Chara’s therapist soon, because at the rate he was going, he was going to end up with as many issues as they did. “I promise to do my best.” They paused and leaned back so that he would look up at them; when he did, they smiled and brushed a long tuft of fur from his eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me. You and Chara just need to keep yourselves safe and happy, and I’ll promise to do the same for me. It’ll be okay, Az. I promise.”

            Asriel squeezed them tightly again and Frisk let him hold onto them for awhile as they rubbed his back and hummed a lullaby they faintly remembered Toriel singing to them as a child.

            After a long time, Asriel leaned back, swiping at his eyes, but when he looked up at them, he managed a smile. “I’m going to let Chara go talk to Papyrus now.”

            “Alright, dear. You’ll be okay?”

            He nodded as he stood back up. “I will. I promise.”

            With a smile, they leaned in and pressed a kiss to his brow. “There’s a good boy. Now, I’ll talk to you later.”

            He nodded, blinked, and suddenly it was Chara looking out again. “I’ll go,” they announced and scurried out of their room, probably too relieved to not be in trouble to wait to see them out—usually Chara was pretty protective of their room and the things inside to the point of learning self sufficiency like changing their own light bulbs and vacuuming. It would have amused Frisk, but as they shut the door behind them, they felt rather than heard the faint fizzle of magic as Sans teleported away from the balcony.

            “Oh, damn,” they muttered, looking into their room. “He’s probably going to get hammered and then text me at three in the morning because he’s locked out of the house.” They reached into the room, to turn off their lights. When they pulled their hand back, they paused and looked down at it for a moment. Downstairs, soft chatter turned into something more boisterous and cheerful, but Frisk hardly noticed as they studied their hand, pinching the palm through their glove, deep in thought.

 

 

 

 

            Frisk was wrong. Sans texted them at four, making their phone rattle on their nightstand. Frisk snatched it up and checked it, just to be sure, but they allowed themselves a tiny sigh of relief when they saw his badly misspelled text. They kicked off their covers and padded downstairs to get the door, leaving lights on in their wake, and not caring a wit if they neighbors saw them at the door in only a sweater and the pair of briefs they’d worn to bed. Opening the door, they found Sans listing heavily against the side of the house next to the door, blinking blearily up at them.

            “Oh, good,” he murmured. “I really didn’t want to try teleporting in there.”

            Meaning he didn’t want to accidently splice his feet with a bit of his litter or one of their wet towels they left on the floor. Frisk wasn’t terribly impressed either way. “Well, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

            He grunted and half fell against them as they pulled him into the house. They took a moment to lock the door again and then began to half pull him towards the stairs, promptly forgetting to shut off any of the lights. The stairs were as tricky as they suspected and more than once Frisk had to pull Sans up when he tripped on the edge of a step, biting their tongue until they got him up to the room.

            Once inside, they let him flop on the bed. Looking down at him, they allowed themselves a sigh. “You know,” they began as they reached down to wrestle him out of his coat, “if it were any other day, I’d pretty annoyed about this. Can’t say I find people who are falling down drunk impressive.” They got his coat off and worked his shoes off, a pain mostly because of his tightly knotted laces. “But, considering what a shitty day you had, I’ll let it slide.”

            He muttered something that might have either been appreciative or gassy and obediently let them yank his sweater over his head. As soon as he slipped free from its grip, he slumped back on the bed, eyes shut.

            Frisk snorted in spite of themselves and moved to undo his belt. “Alright, come on, big guy. We’ll get your pants off and then we’ll call you done, okay?”

            He mumbled something, but proved he was awake by lifting hips up so they could get his pants off.

            When they tossed the pants aside and turned back, they caught him yanking half heartedly at his underwear. They reached over and brushed his hands away. “Stop that, it’s not _that_ hot in here.”

            “Yes, it is,” he grumbled, but didn’t fight them again. Whenever he managed to get himself drunk they noticed he was sensitive to heat—quite the change since usually he hated being cold when sober.

            “No, it’s not, and if you pull those off, you’ll just be complaining that you’re too cold.” Instead of tugging him to his side of the bed, they pulled him up into theirs; he made a small noise of complaint when they pulled the covers up over him. “If it’s that bad, I’ll turn the fan on for you. But clothes and blankets stay on.”

            He sighed, but didn’t kick the blankets off in the time it took for them to fiddle with the overhead fan. Once they climbed in bed beside him, he surprised them by immediately reaching out and grabbing the fabric of their sweater over their shoulder.

            They blinked at him and settled down under the covers, never breaking the gaze between him. “This is a surprise. I thought you were just going to konk out on me as soon as you could manage.”

            “Do we really only have eighty years together?”

            They froze—the question was surprisingly coherent considering how much he’d been mumbling. After a moment, they reached out and began to gently rub their thumb against his right cheekbone. “Maybe,” they said, carefully considering their words. “Maybe more.”

            His gaze, which had been bleary, suddenly focused in on them. “How much more?”

            Their eyes settled on the hand that was still stroking his cheek. Where to begin? Would it freak him out if they admitted they’d been planning to see a doctor about the fact they hadn’t had a period in over a year and they were worried about cancer until they realized other things. Like the fact that their hair and nails never grew, never need trimming—when they loss a chunk of their hair trying to dodge an assassin’s magic, the hair was back to normal within a week. That, however, probably wasn’t going to help.

            Instead, they pulled their hand back. At his blank expression, they reached out and reluctantly pulled off the glove. He frowned at the hole in their palm—also never unchanging, never shrinking or expanding—but looked no closer to the truth.

            At last, they sighed. “Sans, this body is full of monster magic. I’m not—this body isn’t entirely human anymore.” They grimaced and pulled the glove back on.

            His eyes were sharp when they looked back up. “So… you might have more time?”

            They paused—hope always looked strange but precious in his face, like it was a stranger he hoped would come but was never prepared for. Still, it was a good look on him and they found themselves smiling despite the churning in their own stomach. “Maybe. Maybe not. This is all pretty new to me, so I don’t know what I’m doing.”

            He snorted and for a moment, he looked happier. “Welcome to the club, babe.”

            They chuckled and reached for him again—without a word, he shifted forward until they could pull him to their side. They pressed their forehead to his as he tucked himself against their shoulder. “Look, I’m thinking about going to some doctors. Hell, maybe even to see Alphys. We’ll find out what we can, deal with it then.” They glanced down at his skull and sighed against it. “We just have to deal with it as it comes. Until then, no point to worrying about it.”

            “If you say so,” he murmured, his voice thickening with sleep already.

            Still, there was something they had to say to him first. They poked him in the back of his head; when he grumbled at them, they cleared their throat. “Since it’s just as likely that I’ll be alive for awhile or not and I’m giving up my human cigarettes, I want a favor from you too.”

            “Whatever you want,” he mumbled.

            “No more getting so drunk you can’t even make it across the room without stumbling around. One day, you’ll get yourself hurt.” They paused and went on. “I’m not saying no drinking, but no more drinking ‘til you’re a mess, okay? Or at least take me with you so I can keep an eye on you.”

            He paused and nodded. “Okay.”

            They raised an eyebrow. _Well, that was easier than I planned._ “Okay?”

            “Yeah.” He pressed his face deeper into their shoulder. “Sounds fair.”

            “Oh. Well, good.” They lay there, looking up past him as they tried to think of something else to say. When they couldn’t think of anything, they shrugged mentally. “Alright then. Let’s just get to sleep then.”

            They said it more for themselves, but he surprised them by murmuring again. “Frisk?”

            “Yes?”

            “If you end up living longer than humans, do me a favor.”

            Frisk frowned, torn between amusement and confusion. “And what’s that?”

            “Don’t die before me.” He said it so softly, Frisk almost missed it.

            Their smile turned tense and they fought the urge to wince. “Would you really leave me behind?” They paused, waiting, but all they got in response was a snore. Sighing, Frisk patted his back and closed their eyes.

            That night, they dreamed of their mother’s funeral, but when walked up to the casket to press their fingertips against its side, they found a row of caskets instead. In each one, a friend and loved one rested in grim repose; their parents, this world’s Sans, Asriel, Chara, Papyrus, Mettaton, Undyne, and so on. They looked at each body, some faint part of their brain protesting that it should only be dust in the coffins, but then a hand clapped onto their shoulder. They turned, expecting to see their grandfather’s forlorn face looking down at them.

            Instead, it was a skeleton in black who smiled down at them. “Death visits everyone around you, but not you,” he said in his strange voice. “You will always be left behind.”

            Frisk looked at the hand resting on their shoulder—there was a hole in the palm.

            When they woke up, they gasped up into the darkness. Sans snored heavily against their shoulder, and for a moment, they felt more alone than they had in nearly a year. Shivering, Frisk realized Sans had kicked off the covers off the both of them. Grimacing, they untangled themselves from his grasp and pulled the blankets back up, but when they tried to curl around him again, sleep refused to return.

            Rather than get up and putter around in the kitchen, as they usually did, they pressed themselves close to Sans and looked past him into the shadows.

            “I don’t want to be alone again,” they whispered to the shadows and settled in for a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is late! It was my birthday on Tuesday and my week's been out of whack sense then.
> 
> This chapter's funny--I was actually going to post an entirely different chapter this week, but then I realized that one of the jokes in it was going to make any sense without this chapter for context. So I paused writing for that chapter and whipped this one up instead! That said, next week will be a request chapter.


	14. (Not Exactly) The Happiest Place on Earth

            Frisk paused at the sound of their name being called and looked up from their paperwork just in time to see Asriel poke his head into their bedroom door. Their and Sans’ room? His clothes had mostly made the transition to their closet, but they were still not entirely sure what it exactly meant yet. They put the thought out of their head and smiled at the young monster. “Need something, kiddo?”

            He wrinkled his nose at them and stepped into the room. “Frisk, when did you say your birthday was again?”

            Frisk paused again, frowning softly as they stared at his suddenly very innocent face. “October eleventh.”

            Instantly, he perked up. “That’s still a week away!”

            Now they set their papers aside to frown at him pointedly. “Alright, boy child, out with it. What’s so important about my birthday that you had to come ask me about it?”

            Reluctantly, he stepped into the room, hands clasped behind his back. “ _Well_ , um. Last year you came too late to celebrate with us.” This was true—originally, their mountain hiking trip had been a birthday present to themselves. They’d arrived about a week after their party. Asriel had been pretty disappointed at missing the chance to celebrate with them. “So, um, I was thinking maybe we could do something this year?”

            _Aww, what a cutie._ They had to smile, even if it was a wry one. “That’s sounds like a nice idea. Thank you, sweetheart.” They let him beam in pride before they leaned forward. “Now, what’s the catch?”

            He blinked, his eyes huge in his face. “Catch?”

            It took a lot for them not to immediately smirk at his innocent tone. “Yeah. What do you need a week to plan for exactly? You weren’t expecting more than you two, me, Papyrus, and Sans, were you?”

            He paused, shifting about on the spot. “Well, um, yeah, I was think just something for the bunch of us. It was just, you know-” he paused again to try to look nonchalant as he shrugged. “I was just thinking that maybe we could go somewhere fun. To celebrate!”

            Frisk’s smile only grew more amused. “Oh? Any particularly place in mind?”

            After a moment of silence where he fidgeted, Asriel finally flashed them a tentative but hopeful smile. “Disneyland?”

            Frisk only barely managed to contain their snort. _Ah, I probably should have seen that coming._ “Ah, sorry, honey, but there’s no way I can wrangle us tickets and enough time off for that in just a week. My birthday’s only a Wednesday, and besides, Halloween’s coming up. I can try for January maybe. I think the crowds are supposed to be thinner then.” They paused, smiling gently at the disappointment in his face. “May I ask why Disneyland in particular?”

            Asriel sighed gustily; they cleared a spot next to them on the bed, so he trudged over and flopped onto the bed by their knees. “I’ve always wanted to go to a theme park. We definitely didn’t have those Underground. And Chara said they’d never been either.”

            Frisk frowned. “To a theme park or Disneyland?”

            “Neither.”

            Leaning back, Frisk considered the ceiling. They hadn’t had a chance to visit one themselves until they were nearly ten years old—after freeing monster kind, there was hardly any time to spare. But they remembered the bright, sunny day they’d finally gone to a theme park—them, their mother, Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, and Alphys. Sans had stuck to Toriel and their slower pace while poor Alphys got dragged off with Undyne and Papyrus as they sprinted deeper into the park. They could still remember the feeling of the sun beating down on their face as they held their mother’s hand in their own, their chest tight with joy. Frisk blinked, feeling the sting of nostalgic tears. Smiling wryly again, they carefully rubbed the tears from their face and beamed down at their ward.

            “Well, does it have to be Disneyland, or will someplace else do instead?”

            Asriel paused to stare at them before he scrambled up, eyes shining. “We could go to another one instead?”

            They laughed. “Disney’d be pretty full, but I think I know a place that we could go to for a day. That’d be easier to swing.” Cheaper too, but that was besides the point. They’d already set aside their birthday for a day off work. They’d need to send a note to Asriel’s school—not to mention clear it with Asgore and Toriel first—but the idea of getting to share that joy again with Asriel and Chara eclipsed the effort they’d have to put into it. “I, um, have to check a few things first, but I’d love to go there for my birthday.”

            Without another word, Asriel lunged at them, tossing his arms about their neck as they laughed in surprise. “Frisk, you’re the absolute best!”

            “Well, hold on now!” they finally giggled, squeezing him back before pulling away to look at him properly. “I really do need to make sure we can do this. So, uh, don’t get your hopes up too high.”

            He rolled his eyes, but they were still shining with hope. “I won’t,” he lied.

            They only laughed.

 

 

 

            It was a near thing, but Frisk managed to both get tickets and make time for the trip. Convincing Toriel and Asgore took nearly three days alone—one day to convince them to let Frisk take Asriel and Chara to a park, the second to convince them to let Asriel and Chara skip a day of school, and then the last one to try and convince the two to not join them on the trip. The last was especially tricky, but luckily neither of their schedules would let them come. Frisk decided they should probably feel a little guilty about how relieved they were over the last bit, but it came down to the fact that they knew Asriel wouldn’t want them there. A year had passed and progress had been made, but Asriel was still distant to his parents and for once Frisk just wanted a fun, uncomplicated day to enjoy themselves.

            Uncomplicated. Right.

            It was just the five of them that set out early in the morning; Papyrus and Asriel in the front seats, Frisk and Sans squeezed into the back. Really, it should probably have been Frisk sitting shotgun, but that would leave a bored Sans and Asriel in the backseat and that’s always a bad idea—Sans liked to tease and Chara didn’t like to put up with it. So, instead Frisk sat sideways so their legs can stretch across the back, Sans’ feet up in their lap as he went back to sleep. Frisk had to keep an eye on Papyrus, to make sure he didn’t give in to his road rage issues when traffic began to slow, but at last they found a parking spot before noon.

            Papyrus tightly gripped Asriel’s hand to keep him from bouncing away while Frisk dragged a sleepy Sans onward by his hand.

            As they stood in line, Frisk and Sans up front so Frisk could hand over the tickets, a young boy cleared his throat behind Papyrus and Asriel. When they turned to look at him, the five year old grinned up at them. “Cool costumes!”

            Asriel blinked and smirked. Papyrus only frowned in confusion for a moment before he lifted his free hand and pointed to his clothes. “ _This_ is not a costume. This is a _uniform.”_

            The boy’s eyes went wide. “That’s a uniform? That’s so cool!”

            Papyrus smirked. “It is.”

            “You do wear it nicely,” Frisk added, turning to smile mischievously at him.

            The little boy looked like he wanted to say more, but his parents finally realized he’d started chatting with strangers and yanked him back to their side with a few muttered apologies.

            Sans raised an eyebrow ridge. “What’s up?”

            “The child liked my uniform,” Papyrus answered in a lofty tone. “At least they had good tastes.”

            Frisk leaned in and whispered to the shorter skeleton. “He thought you guys were just in costumes.” When he frowned, they patted his shoulder. “It’s Halloween coming up. The whole park will be full of people in monster costumes.”

            “So, what you’re saying is that we won’t stick out,” he grunted.

            They shot him an amused smile. “What I’m saying is everyone is going to think you guys are the coolest looking ones here.”

            “You’re saying that they don’t say that already?” he quipped.

            “Aw, handsome,” they began with enough embarrassing affection that Papyrus shook his head and Asriel rolled his eyes; Sans just quietly ducked his head and tried not to laugh as they leaned over and tossed an arm around his shoulders. “If they don’t, then know that it’s always what I’m thinking.”       

            “You mean that for all of us, right?” Asriel asked, leaning forward to tug at their shirt.

            Frisk beamed at him; quickly, they let go of Sans to reach back and cup Asriel’s face before swiftly kissing the end of his nose. “Of course, love, for all of you.” They promptly missed the smirk Asriel shot to Sans as they turned about, nor did they see the look of amused annoyance (or annoyed amusement) on Sans’ face as they handed the tickets over; they might of heard Papyrus’s sigh of long suffering bemusement, but they were too distracted to note it.

            The teen staffing the entrance booth glanced at Frisk and the monsters before shooting Frisk a disinterested stare. “Sorry, ma—um, sir? But while we let customers walk around in costume on Halloween, I still need to see under the masks, sir.” He paused, frowning. “Ma’am?”

            Frisk fought the urge to twitch at the misgendering and tried their most patient smile. “Mx,” they offered; the teen just blinked at them. “And they aren’t costumes.”

            The teen’s frown deepened, but when Sans caught him glancing at him, he reached up and rapped his knuckles against his skull, making it echo. That startled the teen and he made a small ‘o’ mouth shape. “Uh! I, um, see—sorry for the confusion-um? Miss? Just go on ahead.”

            Frisk shot him a tight smile—humans always did have a tougher struggle with the intricacies of gender expression, or rather the lack of a preferred one—and pushed through the turnstile. They paused while Sans glared at the gate before sidling in sideways while Asriel scrambled half over it before Papyrus grabbed him and made him walk through it normally.

            Once everyone was inside, Asriel quickly lost his sour expression as his eyes went wide. The front of the park was heavy loaded with bright, colorful distractions for kids—a giant carousel, a few of the more tame rides, and kitschy gift shops. More amusingly, Papyrus seemed to be right in the same boat and was goggling at everything. Even Sans looked mildly amused by their surroundings.

            Smiling, for real this time, Frisk let them have a moment to sink it in before they spoke. “So, what do you want to do first?”

 

 

 

 

            Never before had Frisk been more thankful that their birthday fell so near to Halloween than then. While some people did a few double takes or gawked at the three monsters, no one really paid them much mind. A few brave souls wandered over, asking for selfies—Frisk let Papyrus and Asriel indulge them while they hung back. Sans stayed with Frisk until the last possible moment before slipping into the background of each photo to make a rude gesture, hidden well enough that no one noticed before wandering away. Frisk snorted at his smug smirk as he slunk back to their side.

            More interesting was the monsters’ reactions to the costumes and decorations around them. The amusement park was fully embracing the Halloween spirit with pictures and statues of monsters everywhere, including a few lifelike ones that Frisk had to shoo Papyrus and Asriel away from as they poked at them.

            Best though, were their reactions to the actors in full costumes. A few had some fun costumes, although when one danced by in a cheap skeleton costume Sans turned to Frisk with a sardonic look. “I have never felt so appropriated in my life.” But then the best one walked by and even he had to stare—the actor was missing a leg in reality and had a special prosthetic that looked like real, if stiff, leg and foot bones. As they watched the actor finally vanish around the corner, he turned back, his face carefully blank. “Okay, feeling slightly better about this now.”

            “Was that _really_ a costume?” Asriel asked, voice still awed.

            Frisk chuckled and reached over to grab him by the shoulders and pull him along. “Sure was. Plenty of humans lose a body part or two over their lives. We learn to get along without them. Like monsters,” they added with a wink.

            He frowned up at them. “Are you missing any body parts?”

            “Yeah, my appendix.”

            “What on earth is an appendix?” Papyrus asked suspiciously. “And is it important?”

            “It’s an internal organ,” they answered, tapping their abdomen in about where they _thought_ their appendix had been—honestly, they couldn’t quite remember where the damn thing was supposed to be. They only remembered some of the most intense pain of their life right in the middle of an evening with their Papyrus when Toriel and Sans had both gone out. Papyrus had panicked when they started crying in pain and rushed them to the hospital before remembering to call Toriel. That’d been a _fun_ night. “It’s, uh… for digestion? I think? Anyway, I can live without it just fine.”

            “So that’s where you got that scar from?” Sans asked. When he caught the disgruntled look his brother shot him, he tensed up. “What? You can’t tell me you didn’t notice that old scar on their gut before.”

            “We’re in a public place. There are children about,” Papyrus scoffed before adding, “and I try _not_ to ogle Frisk, thanks.”

            “Ah, what’s this? Who’s ogling me?” Frisk asked loudly, twisting their head about, hoping to disarm the tension before the brothers got themselves into a feud that would last the entire day. They shot the brothers a saucy grin. “Is it someone hot?”

            Papyrus groaned in exasperation. “This is nonsense. We’re going to go find the fastest roller coaster and we are going right now.”

            Sans and Frisk shared a hesitant look. “Uh, Pap, you sure that’s the first thing we should be doing?”

            At the dark look Papyrus pinned him with, Sans abruptly shut up. “We’re going.”

            With a grumble, Frisk let go of Asriel to smack Papyrus’s arm lightly with the back of their hand. “No bullying, no fighting,” Frisk reminded him when he looked down at them. When he tried to glare at them too, they merely raised their chin. “It’s _my_ birthday.”

            That seemed to settle down him a little. “Yes, well… let’s get going at least.”

            Satisfied for the moment, Frisk turned to the pamphlet they had been handed at the entrance and unfolded it to see a cartoony map of the park. Looking over it, they considered the options silently while Papyrus and Asriel looked over the map with them. Finally, they tapped one tall coaster. “Here. It’s not very long, but it’s one of the fastest in the state.”

            “What’s it called?” Asriel asked, looking up at them.

            “Demon Howl,” they read, trying not to chuckle at the silly name.

            “A great name!” Papyrus announced; Frisk was suddenly very glad they’d kept their opinion to themselves. Asriel cheered as well. “Let’s get going then.”

            Biting their lip, Frisk heard Sans sniggering behind them and nearly let a chuckle escape. Instead, they forced themselves to look at the map again, tracing a path to the ride with their finger. “It’s a long walk. We’d better get going now.”

 

 

 

 

            The Demon Howl turned out to _not_ be a good idea. Sans at least had the wisdom to sit the ride out while the other three went to stand in line. After a long wait, Asriel nearly cried when the operator hesitated to let him on the ride since he wasn’t sure if Asriel or Papyrus could go on in “full costume”. After Frisk explained that neither were in costume—which drew a variety of reactions from confused, scared, curious, to the downright enchanted—the operator relented with a stern warning to both to “try and keep all body parts inside the ride at all times”. He then added “if something does fall off, you’ll have to wait for a park worker to go get it back”.

            That trial finally settled, they joined the crowd climbing into the cars. Immediately, Frisk realized that neither monster knew a damn thing about how to buckle in, so they scrambled to get them both settled in before one of the ride workers shooed them back into their own seat. Frisk gave the two up to the worker, murmured a prayer for their good behavior, and quickly settled into their own seat. They had to turn around and order the two to stop fussing at the worker, but finally they were ready.

            All the riders locked in place and clearance given, the ride jerked forward and started to glide forward on the rails. Sitting, in their seat, Frisk reached up to grab their harness. They allowed themselves one look back to see despite the difficulties from before, Asriel was beaming and from the way he was grinning up at Papyrus, they hoped the skeleton was also in better spirits. They thought about reminding the two to keep their arms inside the ride, but thought better of it and turned back around.

            For a moment, the ride slowed to a near standstill as it neared the second part of the set up, but only for a moment. Then every person on the ride was slammed backwards into their seats if they hadn’t braced themselves already and then the train of cars was flying up into the sky.

            It was like riding their motorcycle, but both better and worse—while they didn’t have control over the ride, it sure went a hell of a lot faster. Frisk joined the others in a joyful scream, but then all too soon the ride was pulling back to the start. Heart pumping, Frisk turned to glance back and then paused at the sudden motion behind them.

            Asriel handed _something_ to Papyrus and the skeleton shoved it upwards.

            Frowning, Frisk tried to turn more in their seat, but their harness kept them pinned in place. It wasn’t until they came to a stop and the automated bars retracted that Frisk could escape their harness and get a proper look back. “Everything okay?”

            Guilt and panic flashed instantly over both their faces as they tried to get out on their own. “It’s fine!” Asriel squeaked, wrestling with his harness; Frisk leaned over and helped him. “Everything’s great! Right, Papyrus?” He glanced at the skeleton and winced.

            Papyrus, damningly, only nodded.

            Frisk paused, frowning at him while Asriel clambered out of his seat. There was something… _off_ about the motion, but they weren’t sure what. “Papyrus?”

            He shot them his most attentive look.

            After a long pause, they gestured at the harness that he was still helplessly trapped in. “Would you like a hand?”

            He paused, reluctant, and then nodded again.

            Frisk instantly realized what the problem was. “Papyrus, did your _jaw_ fall off?”

            “No!” he tried to shout, but that only made his jaw fall open at one side, hanging sadly from one hinge. Quickly, he grabbed it, but without a mirror or something to looking into, he couldn’t seem to find how to fix it back into place properly. They had both left their phones with Sans, just to make sure they wouldn’t accidentally lose them on the ride.

            “It’s okay, I caught it when it fell,” Asriel tried to help, shuffling around behind them.

            With a sigh, Frisk got Papyrus free from his harness, waving away the helpful ride worker who started to step forward. Once he was out, they pulled him to the exit. They kept dragging him down the exit stairs while Asriel followed dutifully behind. At the bottom of the stairs, they turned back and grabbed Papyrus’s collar and pulled him down before he could fight them off. “Here, let me fix that.”

            “It’s fine!” he snapped, but that only made the jaw flop open again.

            Frisk glared and gave his shirt another yank. “Papyrus, do you really want to spend the entire day with Sans once he sees you like that?”

            They all knew they were already lucky since the exit area was out of sight from where Sans was sitting at the moment. If it hadn’t been though, the ribbing would never end unless Papyrus brought out the threats. Then he’d be responsible for ruining their birthday and Sans’ day at once.

            A short pause and then Papyrus quickly offered them his jaw. After a few moments fiddling with it, the bone seemed to catch on something and it fell into place.

            “Did that hurt?” Asriel asked as Frisk took a step back and Papyrus shifted his jaw around, looking quite pleased to have control over it again.

            “What, my jaw? No, no,” he answered. “My jaw has a hinge, so it’s no problem. Now, if it’d happen to Sans, that’d be one thing. But _I_ don’t have to worry about that.”

            “Cause his is fused?”Asriel guessed.

            “More or less.”

            Seeing that both of them seemed perfectly fine, Frisk fondly shook their head and turned to finally leave the exit area. “Well, did you guys at least enjoy the rest of the ride?”

            “It was great!” Asriel gushed, reaching out to tug on Frisk’s hand. “Can we go again?”

            Frisk looked up in time to see a flicker of panic cross over Papyrus’s face and tried not to smile too knowingly. “If we ride the same rides over and over, we won’t have time to ride any of the other ones. Let’s go poke around elsewhere for awhile, and if you still want to ride it again before we leave, then we can.”

            Both monsters seemed satisfied and they left the exit ramp.

            Sans was still where they’d left him. He raised his hand in a lazy greeting before pointing immediately to the side before they could say anything. “I change my mind. I feel appropriated again,” he announced sarcastically.

            They looked and spotted an artist’s booth set up in the shade. Rather than do chalk drawings or cartoons, this artist was doing face paint. He seemed to be catering mostly to a crowd of kindergarten aged kids, but he had a few older kids too. Most walked away with some simple, colorful designs of birds or flowers, but the latest kid turned and walked off. Frisk tensed at the design on his face, frowning as they watched the kid go.

            “Calavera,” they muttered and fought back a grimace. “And a terrible design too. Just slapped a couple flowers on him and called it good.” Part of them wanted to dryly inform Sans that if anyone should feel appropriated, it should be them, but that idea sounded ludicrous when they realized they’d have to say it to an actual skull.

            Asriel blinked up at them. “What’s calabera?”

            “ _Calavera_ ,” Frisk corrected gently and gestured at their own face. “It means skull—I was talking about the design. It was supposed to look like a sugar skull, like one of the ones I made last year. Remember?”

            “For Halloween?”

            “No,” Frisk frowned. “Not the candy ones. The ones I made for the altar that we let Chara help decorate.”

            “Oh, those ones!” he murmured before frowning. “Those weren’t for Halloween.”

            “No, love. Not for Halloween.” They’d known that they probably hadn’t explained very clearly last year in their rush to make the sugar skulls—they’d fallen into a sudden panicked frenzy just a few days shy of November last year, when a burst of homesickness overpowered them. They’d realized that they had no way to observe any of the Day of the Dead celebrations as they had years before, but at the same time it felt so sacrilegious they’d gotten sick to their stomach. They asked Asgore for a favor and actually went to the human city to try and find some last minutes supplies. They managed a tiny celebration—there were no graves to visit, so they settled on an altar bearing decorations with the names of the dead and a few trinkets they’d found that reminded them of the deceased.

            From the looks the three monsters were giving them, Frisk was fairly certain that were expecting an explanation. With a sigh, Frisk glanced away. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Just know that they’re doing it wrong.”

            Asriel frowned unhappily, but Papyrus and Sans both shrugged and accepted it. Seeing himself outnumbered, he sighed. “Can we go on another ride?”

            _I hope he doesn’t want to spend **all** day on the rides,_ they thought before glancing around. “Okay, how about… that one.” They pointed to a smaller roller coaster; hopefully this one wouldn’t knock Papyrus’ jaw loose. “It’s a Corkscrew. A classic if there was one.”

            Sans looked at the ride for a moment before pointedly shutting his eyes and turning away, looking like he was settling in for a nap. “Yeah, you guys can go enjoy that one. I’m staying here for now.”

            “Are you going to want to go on any of the rides?” Frisk asked after a moment while Papyrus and Asriel headed towards the ride’s entrance.

            “No.” Sans opened one eye and smirked. “Tell you what, babe. Find me a ride I can take a nice nap on and then I’ll ride it with you.”

            Frisk raised an eyebrow. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

            Sans shifted and reached into his coat—he had hidden pockets lining the seams and from one of them he pulled out a flask. He held up it up, like an offering. “Want a drink to fortify yourself before you go on another?”

            Surprised, they barked a laugh before they could stop themselves. “Put that away! Jesus, you’ll get us all in trouble. I _told_ you you’re not supposed to be food and drink in here.”

            “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure they were going to have any place serving monster drinks,” he explained as he twisted the cap and took a swig. “I wasn’t going to spend the entire day with nothing to drink.”

            “What do you even have in there?” they asked, curious in spite of themselves.

            “Rum. Sure you don’t want any?”

            They shot him a flat look to hide their amusement. “I’ll pass.”

            “Frisk! C’mon!” Asriel shouted.

            “See you,” Frisk said; Sans raised a hand nonchalantly before letting it drop again. Shaking their head, they hurried to catch up to the other two monsters.

            Thankfully, the line for the Corkscrew was much shorter and the ride a little longer, so Asriel was cheerful again by the time the ride stopped. Unfortunately, he’d also gotten a peek at the longest ride in the park—a wooden monstrosity that turned out to be the largest wooden roller coaster in the state according to the pamphlet—so he started begging to ride that. Again, Frisk and Papyrus accompanied him, although they had to drag Sans along to another bench so to not lose him.

            The waiting line for the coaster was again long, not so much because there was a ridiculous amount of people in it, but because the line was slow. The ride itself was fun enough, but it rocked and rumbled about until that Frisk was happy when it ended.

            Which is why their stomach nearly plummeted to their knees when Asriel’s eyes began to sparkle as they left the exit area. “Hey, I saw this one really cool looking ride while we were up there. Do you think-”

            Fixing a politely stern smile on their lips, they wheeled about to look him in the eyes. “Why don’t we go try something else for a bit? We have the rest of the day to ride more coasters.”

            Asriel paused, looking thoughtful. “Oh. Okay.” He brightened almost instantly. “Can we go do some games then?”

            _Anything as long as it means I don’t have to ride another coaster just yet._ They nodded.

            After some backtracking to grab Sans, who was grumpy to be roused before he could get a proper nap in, they hunted down the closest arcade building. Tucked half out of the way, they would have walked past it, thinking it was just a shop, if it hadn’t been blaring obnoxious and clashing songs, gun shots, and chimes. Asriel ran forward to stare at a few crane games but almost immediately, he was drawn inside. It didn’t take long to find him inside, however—one look at the prize counter revealed him gawking at the prizes. Specifically, one giant crocodile plush that was as long as he was tall. When Frisk and Papyrus walked up to him, he turned to them with bright eyes and pointed up at it. “I want to win _that.”_

            Frisk frowned at the tiny placard next to it. “That takes a _lot_ of tickets sweetheart. You might want to look at other prizes first.”

            Papyrus scoffed. “Nonsense, we can easily win that! All we have to do is win a few games.”

            “Yeah!” Asriel added, pumping his fists into the air.

            _Well, lost that battle before it began,_ they mused as the two monsters scurried off to find a game to play. They grabbed the first one they found—some shooting game that Frisk knew they’d lose. Shaking their head, they glanced back at Sans who was eyeing their surroundings with annoyed resignation. “Welp. Want to find a game to play with me? We have a shit ton of tickets to win.”

            He shrugged. “No, not really, but it’s not like I’m going to get much of a say in it.”

            “Such a pessimist, my dear,” they chuckled and tossed an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, I’m sure we’ll find something to take your mind off.”

            They walked around together before Sans paused in front of a skee ball machine.

            “Oh, hold up,” he said, surprising them. “I found the perfect thing.”

            They glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You like skee ball?”

            “Nope,” he said before putting one foot up on the edge of the ramp. “It’ll be a great place to nap though.”

            “Oh, no, you don’t,” they laughed, tugging him back. They let him fall back against them as he sighed.

            “Babe, you’re killing me here.”

            “I’m cruel indeed,” they chuckled and dug out some coins. “Come on, we might as well give this a shot. Ever play before?”

            “Nah. Saw it in a movie that I scavenged from the Dump, but I couldn’t figure out what they were doing in the scene to follow the game any.”

            “Ah, well, it’s simple enough.” They plopped a few coins into the slot and waited as the game released the balls. They reached down and grabbed a ball, showing it to Sans. “Take a ball, roll it up the ramp, try and get it in a hole up there.” They demonstrated and were pleased to see it land in the twenty points hole.

            Sans raised his brows and picked up a ball of his own. “Just toss it up there, huh?”

            “Roll it. No throwing.”

            He glanced at them, tossing the ball from hand to hand for a moment. “Are we trying to get more points or less?”

            “More. More points, more tickets at the end.”

            He smirked. “Really?” Without another word, he nearly hurled it up the ramp—the ball started to fly up and Frisk worried it would go careening off, but then a flash of blue magic surrounded the ball and it landed neatly into one of the one hundred points holes. When the scoreboard flashed the tally, he grinned at them. “Takes a delicate touch, I see.”

            Rolling their eyes, they handed him their ball. “I can see I should leave this to the professional.”

            He accepted the ball with a pleased smirk. “I am a skeleton of many talents.”

            “A _ton_ , I’d say,” they shot back, earning a snort. “Just try not to be too obvious, or they’ll kick us out.”

            He scoffed, but let the next ball into the fifty points hole. “They’d have to prove it first. Besides, I get the feeling that all these games are rigged. Might as well beat them at their own game.”

            Frisk couldn’t really deny that, so they let him rack up the points until a small crowd started to form. It was harder to hide the cheating then, but Sans still earned a high score. They collected their small pile of tickets and wandered off. Next, they found a basketball game that flashed blue lights, making it easier to hide Sans’ magic. Again, they racked up the tickets until they earned enough tickets to win the plush crocodile and then some. Sans looked greedily at some more games, but by then the arcade attendants were looking suspicious, so Frisk dragged him away.

            As they wandered the arcade, looking for Papyrus or Asriel, Sans reached into his coat and drew out another flask. “Drink?” he offered, taking off the cap.

            Frisk grabbed his hand and forced it back towards his chest before a worker spotted them. “God, Sans, you’re going to get us in trouble yet.” They paused, frowning down at him as he took a swig anyway. “Is that the same flask from before, or is it a different one?”

            “Different. Vodka in this one.”

            Frisk closed their eyes. “Lord give me strength.”

            “You’re smiling.”

            “Well, it is a little funny.”

            Sans chuckled and took another drink before tucking it back into his coat.

            They glanced away from him, shaking their head but then paused. Brightening, they hurried up. “There’s Asriel and Papyrus. Hey, guys, how’s it—going?” they frowned at the two monsters. Asriel was leaning against the game cabinet, looking bored, while Papyrus was utterly absorbed into the game. To their surprise, he was actually better at then they expected; he may not have been earning a high score, but he was doing great for a beginner. Adding to the picture, he was humming along to the game, a delightful little ditty about murdering your opponents. Seeing that they probably weren’t going to get Papyrus’s attention for a while, they prodded Asriel. “Kiddo?”

            Asriel jumped and looked up at them, finally grinning. “Oh, you’re here!” He took a step closer them and whispered to them. “Thank goodness you are. Papyrus is really into that game and he won’t give me any more coins ‘cause he said he needs them.”

            “Well, we can fix that easily enough,” they replied, reaching into their pockets. “Oh, but first…” They turned back to Sans and held out their hand. “Tickets please.”

            He raised a brow ridge—instantly, he was in a contrary mood. Probably because he was still wanting that nap, now that they thought about it. “I won them.”

            “With my money. You’re not going to even do anything with them.” They held their hand out again. “Gimme and I’ll help you find a place to nap in peace.”

            He snorted but did hand over the tickets. “I don’t need help _finding_ a place. I need help keeping people from waking me up.”

            They turned back to Asriel with a grin when his face lit up. “I think you’ll find more than enough tickets here.”

            Asriel grabbed the tickets, running his hands over the cheap paper with glee. “This the best! Thanks, Frisk.”

            Frisk cleared their throat. “Sans won almost all of them. He plays a mean skee ball. And basket ball. So, you should thank him.”

            There was a long pause as Asriel glanced from Frisk to Sans; Sans for his part was too busy ignoring the world to care. “Thanks, I guess.”

            Frisk frowned at him, pointedly.

            Looking small, he tried again. “Thank you, Sans.”

            Sans didn't look at the prince and instead seemed more focused on watching the flashing lights in the ceiling above them. “Yeah, whatever. What the hell is Paps playing anyway?”

            Frisk resisted the urge to sigh and joined them in staring openly as Papyrus jabbed buttons and stamped some floor pedals as well. On the screen, something exploded; he raised his arms and laughed manically. “I WIN!” he shouted before pointing at the screen. “Take that you withered, shambling excuses for dead humans! HAHA!”

            “Oh, great, looks like he’s done,” Sans declared.

            “Enjoying yourself, Papyrus?” Frisk asked.

            He turned back to them, eye sockets wide. “Oh—you’re there. Well, good! You arrived just in time to see my awesome victory from the undead hordes!” He paused and leaned over to Frisk, as they were the closest to his height. “Between you and I, I’m not very amused by this games insistence that the skeletal creatures are unthinking animals to be mowed down.” He straightened. “But I got the last laugh in the end! Never would the games creators suspected I, the Great Papyrus, a skeleton monster, to so easily crush their game.”

            “The irony is great, boss,” Sans replied, looking for a moment genuinely amused as he eyed the game’s cabinet.

            Asriel held up the fistfuls of tickets. “Papyrus, look! I think we have enough tickets now!”

            With a gasp of delight, Papyrus grabbed them and immediately started another maniacal laugh. “Perfect! With these tickets and my own winnings, we surely have enough for the stuffed crocodile! I shall go collect our prize now!”

            “Have fun with that,” Sans shot back as his brother ran off with the tickets.

            Asriel grabbed Frisk’s sleeve and tugged on it. “Can I still have some coins? I really wanted to try that crane game out front.”

            Frisk handed him some coins. “We should be out there in a bit. I don’t think Papyrus will take long.”

            He nodded and ran off.

            Frisk smiled after him before turning back to Sans who was glancing towards the prize counter with a wistful smile on his face. They nudged him with an elbow. “You made them both happy.”

            “For once,” he shot back, but there was little bite to it. “That little shit even thanked me after you guilted him into it.”

            “I should probably make him do it more often,” they sighed, leaning their arm against his shoulder. “But you really did do good today.”

            He shot their arm an amused look. “Do I look like a leaning post to you?”

            They grinned and held up their thumb and fore finger, pinching them together. “Just a little bit.”

            He shook his head and looked away. When he did, they glanced back to the crane machines, where Asriel said he would be.

            Frisk paused and turned to look further around. After a moment, they felt their chest tighten. “Oh no,” they murmured, turning around completely to crane their head about. “Oh, _damnit_.”

            “Something wrong, babe?” Sans asked, voice perfectly tailored to sounding idle when he was anything but.

            Frisk sighed and glanced back to see Papyrus walking back to join them, arms locked around the stuffed crocodile plush. “I think we lost Asriel.”

            Sans made a soft noise of surprise and looked around. “Did he wander off?”

            Papyrus, on the other hand, did not handle the news so well. “WE LOST THE PRINCE?” he shrieked, clutching his plush.

            “Ah, chill, he’s probably just around the corner or something.”

            Frisk frowned, still looking around. “I don’t _see_ him. He might have wandered out of the arcade looking for us, maybe? Sans, do you still have his phone?”

            Sans checked his pockets while Papyrus scrambled around the arcade, loudly calling Asriel’s name. “Yeah, shit, it’s right here with Paps’ still. Hey, Papyrus, you want to come grab your phone or-?”

            Papyrus stalked back to them; without a word, he shoved the crocodile into Frisk’s arms, then wheeled around to grab Sans, and hefted his brother up into his arms. “We are going looking for the prince _right now!_ Frisk, you stay here in case he comes back.”

            Sans tried to choke something out, but Papyrus dashed off with him before he could get a word out.

            Frisk watched them go before sighing. Shifting the plush around in their arms, they walked out of the arcade. As they glanced around, they brightened to spot an information kiosk set up across the path. With a few mumbled apologies, they squeezed through the crowd. Stumbling out of the passing crowd, they walked up to the kiosk and grinned their most charming smile at the attendant who promptly blushed. “Hi there. I’m in a bit of trouble, do you think you could help me out?”

            The attendant, a teen boy with a gnarly case of acne, managed a nod. “Sure thing, uh-”

            “Frisk.”

            “Ah, Frisk. I-I’ll do what I can.”

            They leaned against the counter, shifting the plush to their far side. The attendant leaned in as well. “You see, my little brother wandered off on me while I was in that arcade there. He was real excited about riding some coasters, so I don’t think he’s gone too far. Could you do me a favor and page him, telling him to go back to that wooden roller coaster over there?”

            The attendant beamed. “I can do that! I just need his name.”

            Frisk considered it; if they used his full name, someone might recognize it and come investigate. “His name’s Asriel. Just say that Frisk is waiting for him.”

            The boy happily obliged. Once he was done and the page went out over the speakers, Frisk winked at him. “You’re a lifesaver. Thanks, handsome.”

            He mumbled something, watching them leave all doe eyed.

            They walked back to the wooden roller coaster, standing in a point that would give them a clear vantage point of entrance and exit areas, and then crossed their arms as best they could around crocodile and waited. Had Sans and Papyrus heard the page, or would they be going too frantically to pay attention?

            The crowds were thick, but the shock of a white furred figure rushing forward was impossible to miss. Asriel looked sheepish as he looked around.

            Smiling to themselves, they paused to wave at the prince. “Asriel! Over here.”

            Asriel jumped and whipped around to see them. He only looked more embarrassed after their eyes met and he slowly slunk forward to meet them. “Hi, Frisk.”

            “Hello, dear. Get bored, did you?”

            He looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet. “It wasn’t _that._ I just… you know…”

            They nodded. “Got bored.”

            His shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I’m just… not very good at those games.”

            Uncrossing their arms, they reached over and tugged him to their side, patting his back as he wrapped his arms around their middle. “Well, most of those games are rigged. Also, here.” They held up the plush and nearly whacked him in the face with it.

            He jerked back in time to avoid the crocodile’s snout knocking into his own and smiled a bit as he prodded its fluffy jaw. “That’s cool at least.” He paused and glanced around. “Uh, speaking of, where _are_ Sans and Papyrus?”

            Frisk frowned. “That’s a good question. They took off to look for you.” They handed him the plush, noting his squirming with guilt before he took it. “Hold this and I’ll give them a call. Oh, and Asriel?” They frowned as he glanced up at them, giving him a stern look. “No more wandering off without telling someone where you’re going.”

            His cheeks turned faintly pink under his fur—his face must have been really burning to show through so well. He nodded and then quietly buried his face into the side of the crocodile.

            They patted his shoulder one more time and then dug out their phone. They dialed Sans number after realizing they couldn’t remember if Sans had given his brother back his home. They hoped the two skeletons were still together as the phone on the other end rang. After a couple rings, the line picked up. _“Yo, please tell me you found him.”_

            Frisk laughed in spite of themselves. “I did actually.”

            _“Oh thank god.”_

            “Aw, well, it’s sweet to hear you so concerned,” they teased. When Asriel shot them a grimace, they ruffled the fur on the top of his head.

            _“Frisk, Paps literally just dragged me across the goddamn park and now he’s shouting the kid’s name. He’s freaking out the humans.”_ He already sounded exhausted.

            Frisk laughed. “Oh, dear. Well, get him and tell him to come on back. We’re waiting for you at the wooden roller coaster we were just on.” They pulled out their map and looked it over. “Do you guys know exactly where you’re at?”

_“We’re next to the water park, I think? It’s shuttered up, so I’m not sure.”_

            “Well, it _is_ October,” they mumbled as they squinted down at the cartoon landmarks on the map. Frowning, they realized they were looking at the wrong place and began to scan further up. There, at the topmost point of the map, there was indeed a water park. Frisk raised their eyebrows. “Jesus, you guys really did go to the other end of the park, didn’t you?”

            _“I wasn’t fucking joking, okay?”_ He bit off a sigh that turned into a growl. _“Look, I got to go get Papyrus before security comes and tries to tackle him. He’s making some kids cry now.”_

            Frisk pinched the bridge of their nose and tried not to sigh. “Go do that. We’ll be here—or at least around here. Just gimme a call if you don’t immediately spot us.” He grunted at them and hung up; he must have been genuinely worried about Papyrus getting in trouble to be that abrupt. They paused and glanced down to Asriel only to blink at the pair of bright red eyes staring up at them. “Hello, Chara. What’s up?”

            “Will they be long?” they asked mildly, gaze steady. It’d look creepy if they weren’t sure that was exactly what they were hoping for—they were up to something.

            “Might be,” Frisk answered as they put their phone back in their pocket. “Asriel decide to switch places with you because he was bored or because he felt embarrassed?”

            Chara blinked sedately. “I am sure I don’t know what you mean.”

            “Mmhmm. Well, since you’re out, is there anything you would like to do while we wait?”

            In spite of their verbal dodging, the child perked up. “I saw a glass blower’s shop over there,” they said, pointing towards a tucked away corner of the path behind them. “May I go look inside?”

            Frisk considered it—it wasn’t too far away. Also, it did look interesting. “Yeah, why not? Give me the plush back and we’ll walk over.”

            Chara was happy to oblige but immediately began to hurry away as soon as the plush was handed over. Frisk had to pointedly clear their throat to catch their attention; they paused and glanced back.

            “I just scolded Asriel for wandering off,” they reminded them. “I’m not going to make you hold my hand, but don’t go racing off either.”

            “Reasonable,” they murmured, waiting primly until Frisk started to walk past them. Quickly, they fell in step with Frisk until they reached the inside of the shop.

            Beautiful and delicate baubles lined the shop’ walls. Frisk kept a close eye on Chara as they wandered through the shop—Chara was naturally careful, but still a bit clumsy with Asriel’s body. There was no accident today, so they let Chara drift farther away from them until they both met again by the side door. The side exit led to a small area—a forge was set up along with a few stone benches that were already half full. At the forge, a young teen girl narrated the work of her mother as she worked the glass into a wonderful goblet. Chara watched the exhibition with wide eyes until Frisk whispered to them to pick out a seat. Together, they sat and watched for a while.

            They had just joined the crowd in politely clapping when the sound of a small stampede rattled the glass in the shop behind them. They both winced as Papyrus began to call for them, shrieking like an angry crow. Jumping up, Frisk ducked back into the shop to hiss his name.

            The tall skeleton whipped around—his eyes widened when he spotted both of them in the door but then narrowed. He took a step forward, but he’d misjudged how close he was to a display of delicate figurines. His hip checked the case and for a moment, his eye sockets went impossibly wide as six figures toppled forward.

            Frisk winced and shut their eyes, not wanting to see the damage themselves, but when they didn’t hear the sounds of shattering, they cautiously opened their eyes. They looked up in time to see Papyrus gesturing every figure back to their original positions, his blue magic easing them back into place. They sighed a breath of relief, but when they noticed the wide-eyed cashier gaping at Papyrus, they quickly hurried forward and ushered him back out of the shop.

            “Papyrus, my dear, my heart, you can’t just—barge into a glass shop like that,” they tried gently, grabbing him by his elbows as they pulled him back out. “It’s very delicate and very expensive in there.”

            “I can _see_ that,” he tried to snap, but there was no heat in his words. Judging by how he refused to meet their gaze, he seemed just as embarrassed as they were, so they let him go without anymore fussing. “It’s no place for any rational monster to be. Everything’s all… fragile in there.”

            “We need not stay,” Chara offered. “I was done in there anyway.”

            Papyrus blinked and looked down at them. “Oh, Chara, it’s you. I thought you didn’t want to come out today?”

            They shrugged, nonchalant. “I changed my mind.”

            Seeing the two already calming down, Frisk turned from them and looked around until they spotted Sans. He leaned against a sign, glaring at the ground as he tried to catch his breath. Biting back a sigh, Frisk walked over to him—there was no way that he’d hear their footsteps approaching over the crowds, so they just called out to him as they got close. “Sans? You okay?”

            He glanced up at them, still frowning, but his glare slowly faded. “Me? Yeah, yeah. I’ll live. Fucking Papyrus dragged me across the park, then started yanking me _back_ across it is all.”

            They patted his shoulder and tugged him away from the sign to lean against them instead. “Well, why don’t we go get lunch? We can all sit down for a bit and relax.”

            “Recover more like it,” he snorted and let himself list heavily against them. “But yeah, fuck it, let’s get something to eat. Do they _have_ monster food here though?”

            Frisk considered it. “Well, maybe not hot food, but there’s probably some vending machine around here—monster food’s been taking off like crazy up here. Tricks human bodies into think it’s eating real food without gaining weight and works as a basic first aid? That’s gold right there.”

            “Good to know that if this ambassadorial gig doesn’t work out, we could always become hot dog vendors or something.”

            They smiled at him, slyly. “Aw, you’d want to stick with me and going into business together?”

            He blinked up at them as if realizing suddenly what he’d said. “Uh. Well, sure, why not?” He looked at them, just as sly. “You could run interference as we charge everyone double their worth.”

            Laughing, Frisk gave his shoulder a squeeze and started to pull him along. “Come on. Let’s go get those two and go eat.”

             After collecting Chara and Papyrus, they pulled out their map again to look for some place to eat. Luckily, there was a new monster food shop selling some hot food. Sans grumbled about the prices as he helped carry the food back to the table where Papyrus and Chara sat.

            “What’s a matter, dear? Mad that they nearly robbed us blind or mad that they beat us to the punch?” they teased.

            He grimaced up at them. “I can be both.”

            When they got to the table, they passed the food around and then settled in to eat. As Frisk took a bite of their taco, they paused when they felt a nudge down at their elbow. Glancing down, they saw Sans offering another flask. They were about to refuse outright before they paused and studied the flask again—it was one they recognized. They’d bought it as a birthday present for him and it looked nothing like the ones he’d offered them earlier. They looked up at him again, trying to look stern. “Don’t tell me you snuck in three different types of alcohol.”

            His grin was almost innocent. “Whiskey?”

            They shook their head. “ _How_ many more flasks did you sneak in?”

            “Flasks of alcohol? That’s the last one.”

            They paused, frowning, but when they opened their mouth to ask another question, a tap at their other arm stopped them. Looking back, they saw Chara leaning in towards them. “Frisk, can I borrow the map for a bit?”

            “Of course, my dear.” They reached back, tugged the pamphlet out of their pocket, and handed it over. “Looking for something in particular?”

            Chara didn’t immediately answer, not that Frisk minded. Instead, they leaned in to see what their charge was looking for. They watched Chara’s eyes skim over the map a few times before they paused and tapped a bit of the map. “Here. They have a botanical garden.” They looked up to Frisk. “I would like to see it.”

            “Sounds nice and relaxing,” Frisk offered, looking at the map as well.

            “Sounds like a lot of walking,” Sans muttered. Frisk tapped his ankle with their foot as a warning.

            Papyrus shot his brother a look. “You could use the exercise, lazy bones.”

            _Lord, I hope they won’t be sniping at each other this whole time._ Frisk cleared their throat and gestured to the map. “Oh, look. There’s a petting zoo too. Well, I’m in.”

            Sans snickered. “Why? So you can pet the baby goats and rabbits? Good thing Asriel’s not about, or he might get jealous of-”

            Apparently, Papyrus had enough. He stood, grabbed his brother by the back of his coat, and yanked him upright. Sans hissed in pain as his knee whacked against the underside of the table, but Papyrus didn’t care as he dropped him back down onto his feet. “A walk sounds fantastic! Which way do we go?”

            Chara’s glare vanished into cool smugness as they stood, watching as Sans rubbed his aching knee. Frisk shook their head and stood as well. “Looks like its back by the arcades and then we just take a left for a while. It won’t be _that_ far.”

            Papyrus marched his brother down the path, letting Frisk and Chara lead the way, until he at last decided his brother was going to behave and let him go.

 

 

 

            The gardens were lovely, full of beautiful green plants, expertly maintained ponds, and well placed landmarks. The shops in the area were less eye searing and far more tasteful, the benches and signs placed in ways to not obscure the natural beauty around them. Frisk and Chara happily appreciated it all as they walked around, admiring the scenery. Despite their own enjoyment, Frisk was becoming painfully aware that both brothers were growing bored out of their skulls. A bored Papyrus meant an antsy skeleton prone to jumping on whatever might interest him in any way—if it weren’t for the fact that Chara had asked to go, he’d probably would have wandered off by now.

            Sans, on the other hand, was an entirely different problem. A bored Sans meant a sleepy Sans; a bored Sans who wasn’t allowed to sleep because he was being kept walking was only a moment’s notice away from mischief.

            Frisk tried to keep an eye on both of them, but as they paused next to a koi pond so they could toss some feed down to the fish Frisk let their attention wander. They barely even noticed the shop directly behind them, not even realizing when the service door in back opened and a park worker pushed their way out the door. He had a trolley of tall boxes he was trying to pull out of the shop, but the wheels got stuck as he was halfway out. He struggled with door and the trolley for a few moments before he finally spoke up.

            “Hey, man, can you give me a hand? This stupid thing’s stuck.”

            Attention fixed on the fish swarming below them, eager for feed, Frisk didn’t notice the gleam of mischief in Sans’ face as he reached up and plucked his hand from his wrist. “Sure, man. Here, hold this.”

            Without looking, the worker lifted his hand and accepted the hand. He frowned down at the trolley for a moment before freezing. Finally, he looked up at his hand, face blank. He stared down at the hand, silent and uncomprehending. Then he screamed and tossed the hand high into the air.

            Frisk and Chara jumped in surprise, but it was Papyrus who actually did something. Reaching up, his hands glowed blue and Sans’ hand stopped falling, just short of landing in the middle of the koi pond. Frowning, he curled his hand back towards himself; the floating hand drifted backwards. Once it dropped into Papyrus own hand, Papyrus shot his brother a glare before leaning over and grabbing the trolley’s bar. With a hard yank, the trolley and the boxes jerked forward to freedom and out of the store. Letting go, Papyrus straightened, looking very pleased with himself.

            “Nice, Papyrus,” Frisk offered. “You’re a big help today.”

            “I know,” he huffed.

            “Yeah,” Sans grumbled. “Real helpful. Can I have my hand back now?” He froze when Papyrus glared at him, irises burning in his eye sockets. “Uh—please?”

            “So you can make more of a nuisance of yourself?” Papyrus scoffed. “I hardly see why I should indulge such childish pranks.”

            Sans actually looked offended at that. “You’re the one who hid his finger in a quiche and nearly choked Frisk with it.”

            Papyrus’s face colored. “That was not on purpose!”

            “Bro, everyone knows you’re not _that_ bad of a cook.”

            Papyrus tensed up like a wound up coil. “Are you saying I’m a bad cook?”

            Frisk cleared their throat. “Guys, please, we all know it wasn’t on purpose.” They paused to glance at them both pointedly. “And it’s my birthday.”

            The two brothers wilted but Papyrus did reluctantly give the hand back. Still, while they sulked, the worker finally stopped staring.

            “Dude, you used, like, magic and all that junk,” he mused, eyes wide. “You’re, like, a superhero.”

            Chara chuckled but Papyrus brightened at that. “Ah, yes, human, you are correct! I am indeed a hero of rare power. You may praise me at your leisure,” he added, face smug.

            When the worker smiled, however, the nonchalance faded. “Dude, you’re wicked awesome. Wait until I tell everyone about this!” With that, the worker grabbed his trolley and began to push it off to wherever he’d been headed in the first place. “See you later, hero skeleton, and thanks for the help!”

            Papyrus watched the human go, the lights of his eyes bright and dancing in their sockets. “He said I was awesome. He said he was going to tell others!” he murmured, shivering.

            “Well,” Frisk began, patting his shoulder. “I do believe you deserve a little recognition every once and a while, dear. Congrats.” They glanced at Sans. “You, on the, uh, _other hand_. You might want to be careful and keep your hands to yourself for a while there, or we’re going to end up calling you stumpy.”

            Sans snorted, still twisting his hand about on his wrist.

            “You could do that _now._ People would just think it’s a short joke,” Chara offered. While Sans glared murder at the child and Papyrus muffled a chuckle, Chara looked politely up at Frisk. “I am satisfied now and Asriel wants to go on more rides.”

            “Oh, alright,” they said as they looked down at them. “Did you have a good time today? Not too bored?”

            Chara shook their head, the long ears swinging around their face. “No. It was fun. Happy birthday, Frisk.”

            They smiled. “Thank you, my dear.”

            They raised their chin. “Since it’s your birthday, you can kiss me if you want.”

            Frisk’s face crinkled at their eyes as they grinned; coming from anyone else, that would have sounded like the epitome of arrogance. “I would love that, thank you.” When the child offered Frisk their cheek, Frisk leant down and pressed a quick peck to it. “Also, people in glass houses shouldn’t be throwing stones, my love.”

            Chara sighed.

            They pulled back to give them a firm look. “Lay off the short jokes.”

            “Okay,” they answered, and to Frisk’s surprise, leaned up to press a kiss of their own to Frisk’s right cheek. However, when the child pulled back, it was Asriel’s brown eyes staring up at them.

            “Hey, can I have a kiss too?” he asked.

            Frisk laughed and immediately pressed one to the tip of his snout. “Of course, my dear, of course.” Quickly, they also pressed kisses to both of his cheeks as well. When they pulled away, he was beaming.

            Sans grunted something, probably an insult of some sort, but Papyrus loudly cleared his throat. “I believe Chara said you wanted to go on more rides?”

            Asriel turned to him. “Oh, yeah! I saw this really tall one called the Power Drop that I wanted to try. Oh, and there was this one, called the Wild Cat, where you drop and then it swung you around, and there was a swinging boat ride, and then-”

            Frisk grimaced, their stomach already protesting. “I’ll pass on those. My stomach wouldn’t appreciate any of those while it’s still working on food.” When Asriel tried to stare pleadingly up at them, they ruffled the fur between his ears. “You and Papyrus go have fun. Make sure to take your phone with you, though.” They gave his ear a playful tug with the last remark.

            The two left and for a moment, Frisk and Sans enjoyed a moment of peaceful silence. Then Sans burped, startling a pair of ducks and a few park goers who stared before walking away. “Well, I’m ready for a nap, now.”

            Frisk shook their head in amusement. “Aw, that is right. You’ve been skipping out on your naps today.” They reached over and prodded the side of his skull. “Is that why you’ve been trying to start shit? Are we grumpy because we’re sleepy, my dear?”   

            He batted their hand away, but he looked amused. “Maybe I am. I say we go find some place quieter and sit down.”

            _Once upon a time, I would have thought that was an innuendo._ They paused and reconsidered. _Actually, it might still be one, but this boy’s definitely got sleep on the mind,_ they mused, watching him yawn and his eyes droop. Smiling, they shook their head and snagged one of his arms, tucking their arm into the crook of his elbow. When he raised an eyebrow at them, they smiled and began to tug him along. “Come on, I have an idea. It’s probably not what you had in mind, but I think it’ll do nicely.”

            “As long as I can get a nap in, lead the way.” He paused and then added, “just as long as it’s not too far of a walk.”

            It took a few minutes, during which Sans’ walk slowed to more of a shuffle so Frisk was half dragging him along, but Frisk found what they were looking for.

            Sans looked unimpressed at the sign. “A ride? Babe, I was promised a nap.”

            “You were, and you will have one,” they promised, tugging him forward. “It’s a train that runs a circuit of the grounds. It’s nice and slow, and it’s shaded, so I won’t fry as you sleep.”

            “Ah. Well, sign me up.”

            The train’s compartments were empty aside from one family in the front who were gabbing away, but the conductor was a mellow stoner dressed as scarecrow who was happy to let them ride for as long as they wanted as long as they didn’t jump around. Frisk and Sans went towards the back and settled into the long bench, Sans practically laying on Frisk once they put their legs up on the bench, tucking the plush behind them like a pillow.

            “See? I told you it’d be a great place for a nap.”

            “Yes, yes, you did good, now shut up.”

            Frisk laughed and let him get comfortable. They bit back a giggle when Sans shot the conductor a glare as he blew the train’s whistle for the kids as the pulled away. Finally, the train began to chug down the tracks, never getting much faster than a steady jogging pace. While Sans hunkered down for his nap, they amused themselves by looking out at the scenery. The main attraction was apparently the view of the park, but Frisk was more taken by the dense foliage on the other side of the tracks. That was up until they train turned a corner and revealed a few sets that had been hidden by the buildings on the other side. Frisk looked curiously at first but then sat up. “Sans, Sans, you gotta see this.”

            Sans grumbled at the jostling and when they began to shake his shoulder, but then he opened his eyes and glared in the direction they were pointing. Once he saw what it was, he sat up.

            Frisk wasn’t sure if it was a Halloween display or just a strange idea, but the park had rigged up a rather goofy scene of a bunch of prop skeletons posed in an old western style gun battle. Some of the skeletons were aiming pistols at each other, some were sitting at chairs, sipping their drinks nonchalantly. A few were hanging out of windows. One was done up as a brothel madam with a giant feathered headpiece and a lace fan.

            “Oh, I take it all back. _Now_ I feel appropriated.”

            Frisk barked a laugh before they could stop themselves. “Look at the tiny dog skeleton biting the one guy’s pant leg!”

            As they train chugged past, they laughed over everything about it; Sans sat back in bemused amusement at last, slump against them. “There was a goddamn skeleton spider. Spider don’t even have bones.”

            Frisk giggled but then sat up. “Oh god, is that another one up ahead?”

            Sans joined them in waiting. When the train finally got near, they nearly started to shriek their laughter—it was another staged scene with skeletons, this time showing what looked like an old fashioned movie musical mid show stopping dance number with a whole chorus line of dancers in faded costumes.

            “Oh, fucking christ, look at that poor schmuck,” Sans gasped, breathless with laughter as he pointed at one prop. Something apparently happened to this dancer because from the waist down, the legs were frozen mid kick. On the ground beside it, the skeleton’s top half reached up as if it planned to climb back up into place.

            Frisk was nearly crying as they pointed to another. “What the fuck happened to that one’s head?” Half the skull was missing, but they weren’t sure if that was by design or if something had broken it later.

            There were four more staged scenes after that and each one had the two of them in hysterics. One was a horse race in which they both decided their favorite racer was the one skeleton who was being ridden by his horse on his back, rather than the other way around. Another was a bunch of skeletons fighting a giant bird, who for some bizarre reason had wings with bones for feathers.

            It took them the entire circuit to calm back down. While the other family had long since gotten off, they decided to go again. The conductor waved to them before starting up again—annoying Sans when he blasted the train whistle once more. Grumbling, he reached into his coat and produced a flask again.

            “Another one?” Frisk laughed as he shoved the flask into their hand without a word. “Lord. What’s in this one?”

            “Drink it and find out,” he shot back, clasping his hands over his gut and leaning back into their shoulder.

            Staring down at it, they could resist neither a smile nor their curiosity. They uncapped the flask and took a swig. The taste inside, however, surprised them. “This is golden flower tea. Sans, you wily devil, you’ve been holding out on me? Were the rest of the flasks also tea?” It must have been a magic flask as well, as the tea was still delightfully warm.

            “No. Just that one. And I don’t like to think of it as holding out on you,” he replied with a shrug. “Just saving it for when you needed it most.”

            They shook their head and pressed a kiss to the back of his skull before taking another drink.

            While the two of them giggled a bit at the first scene again, Sans was more than happy to hunker back down and finally get his nap in. Frisk let him rest and instead focused on their surroundings and sipping their tea.

            They rode the circuit four more times. Finally, the conductor announced he was going on break; the new conductor who’d come to take his spot glared at them suspiciously, so Frisk nudged Sans awake. Despite his reluctance to leave his comfortable napping spot, they shuffled off the train and head back into the park proper.

            Overhead, the sun was beginning to set and the skies were growing dark. Being so near to Halloween, dusk signaled the arrival of the more playful costumed actors roaming the paths. A few ghoulish zombies and serial murderers appeared to cackle and shake their chainsaws; Sans eyed the actors with confusion, turning to Frisk with raised eye brow ridges. “Is this normal at parks?”

            “No, but remember what I said? Halloween’s around the corner and it’s getting dark.” Frisk watched one chainsaw wielding maniac run up to a group of girls who screamed playfully back. “It’s all in good fun.”

            “Yeah, well, I don’t think Papyrus is going to know that.”

            Frisk grimaced and dug out their phone. “Point taken. Let’s find those two before someone gets hurt.” They found Papyrus’ number in their phone and pressed the phone to the ear, waiting as it rung. “We should probably get going anyway.”

            Sans shrugged and scratched his jaw. “Papyrus isn’t a big fan of driving in the dark either.”

            After a few rings, Papyrus answered. He sounded stiff and gruff—turns out, he and Asriel had already had an encounter with an actor. While no one was hurt, a large crowd had seen him threaten the actor with a thicket of bone spears hanging around his head until he shrieked and ran away. Frisk sighed, but at least it meant that both Papyrus and Asriel were eager to leave as well.

            Despite the sour note, everyone was cheerful to meet up at the end near the park’s entrance—turned out, no one had remembered to get themselves dinner, so everyone was happy to be heading home to decent priced meals. Frisk caught Sans sneaking into one last photo—this time a group of sorority girls whom he ducked in behind to make a lewd gesture. They waited until the heard the sound of a shutter then reached out and dragged him away when one of the girls gasped loudly at the photo.

            The parking lot was a dark maze, but thankfully they found the car and piled back into it. It took some time, but at last they escaped the lot and took off down the highway. Frisk was glad that Asriel decided he wanted to cuddle on the way home—the wind picked up and Papyrus made no move to put the roof up. Asriel conjured a fireball, holding it between his hands, and let Frisk warm their fingers against it.

            The drive home was long, made longer when everyone else overrode Papyrus to convince him to pull into a drive thru that served monster and human food for supper. Despite complaining about the greasy food, even Papyrus dug into his food before taking back off for home.

            Home rarely looked so inviting, but everyone heaved at least a small sigh of relief as they pulled into the drive. Asriel tumbled out of the backseat, holding his plush up like a grim prize of the hunt, leaving Frisk and Sans to climb out on their own time, grumbling about creaking joints while Papyrus strolled up to the door and unlocked it. Once inside, everyone was eager to toe off shoes and pull off coats, to relax into whatever perch they could—everyone, that is, except for Asriel.

            Without a word, Asriel shot past everyone and headed not to the stairs, as Frisk had thought he’d do when he got home, but towards the back room where the piano was kept. Frisk glanced after him, amused, but didn’t comment. After a moment, he came bouncing back out of it, making Frisk laugh.

            “Kiddo, what are you-?”

            “Can I give Frisk their present now?” he half shouted, still bouncing.

            While Sans rolled his eyes, Frisk grinned. “What, you’re telling me spending a day with my four favorite people isn’t my only present?”

            That got a reaction. Sans froze and looked like someone had whacked him with a face full of blush from the way his face turned red. Papyrus half fell against a wall and fanned his face, as if it would actually disguise his red face.

            Asriel, however, wasn’t so easily distracted. “Aw, come on! I want to see their face when they see it!”

            Frisk shot Sans an amused look—which he missed, because he was still frozen—but Papyrus waved him on. “J-just go.”

            Asriel leapt forward and grabbed Frisk’s wrists and began to tug. “Come on, Frisk, you gotta see this!”

            “Ah, sweetheart, I just sat down,” they groaned, the effect of which was partially ruined as they laughed.

            _“Frisk!”_

            “Oh, okay.” They sighed and stood, groaning as something in their back popped. They let the prince tug them away from the comfy couch and towards the music room.

            First glancing into the room, Frisk admittedly didn’t see anything special inside—the piano was in its place, along with the smaller electric keyboard that they’d gotten Chara to take with them wherever they wanted only for them to promptly leave it in the music room. The acoustic guitars—two of them, one right handed for Asriel, and one left for Frisk—were in place as well.

            Frisk froze, glancing to the side of the guitars. The speaker next to them was new. And besides that-

            The noise they produce was not quite a squeak as the pitch wasn’t high enough, but it was most certainly one of the most undignified sounds they’ve made in a while. “Is that an Indinza Professional Bass?” they murmured, eyes wide, their sore joints forgotten.

            Asriel giggled.

            Without waiting for an answer, Frisk crossed the room and examined the bass—looking it over, they saw the company logo on the back and found they were correct. They sat down on the piano bench and let their fingers explore the instrument. Frisk was tempted to take their gloves off to run their fingers over the wood and strings. Their fingers fit perfectly to the strings—they took a few experimental strums, adjusted each string until they were tuned, and then picked out a few more notes. It sounded like a dream—Indinza was a newer company and didn’t carry the history of a Fender or a Gibson, but Frisk liked their instruments and their prices better anyway.

            They paused and looked up to see Asriel, eyes glittering, watching them, and bouncing in place. Sans had also apparently followed them and was leaning into the doorframe, watching them with an idle smile. Even Papyrus, who didn’t want to appear eager, was still lingering outside the kitchen, waiting for some sign.

            It was Asriel who broke first. “Do you like it?”

            Frisk laughed. “Fuck yeah, I do!” They paused, grimaced and grinned all at once. “Don’t tell your mother I said fuck around you.”

            Asriel beamed. “Already forgot it—so you really do like it?”

            “Yeah, of course!” They reached down and strummed the strings again. “God, guys, I had just barely gotten around to looking up what model I wanted and you already went and found one like that?”

            Asriel hopped over to them, squeezing next to them on the piano bench. “Me and Chara came up with the idea! Then Papyrus helped pick it out,” he announced. “Once we got it, Undyne and Alphys kept it over at their place. They dropped it off today as we were gone.”

            “Very sneaky,” Frisk laughed, ruffling his fur. They glanced up at Sans in time to see him look particularly unimpressed. “Can I ask what your contribution was?” they asked, trying not to grin.

            He seemed pleased as he lifted his chin. “I’m the one who found the damn thing. And for a decent price.”

            They laughed. “You always do find great deals. Is that a super power of yours, or just a talent?”

            “All talent,” he shot back.

            Frisk smiled and paused to press a kiss to Asriel’s temple. “I love it. Thank you all. Go tell Papyrus I said that too.”

            He nodded and jumped out to obey. As he ran up to Papyrus, shouting their gratitude. Frisk giggled at the look of pleased smugness on his face.

            “That wasn’t the only thing,” Sans said. They turned their head in time to catch the book he tossed at them.

            Turning it over, they realized it was a manual for learning to play the bass on your own. Despite the fact they could play acoustic and electric guitars, they actually hadn’t learned to play basses yet—they’d been wanting to learn mostly as a challenge for themselves, something to distract them from work. And yet, they distinctly remembered only saying that once to Sans. They beamed up at him.

            “Thought you could use that.”

            Sitting the book down and the bass back into its place, they got up and walked over to him. Without speaking, they reached down out and wrapped their arms around him—he let them, and curled one arm around their waist in turn. “Thank you,” they murmured, trying to infuse every syllable with gratitude.

            Rather than tease or laugh them off, he leaned into their shoulder. “Did you have a good birthday?”

            Frisk smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of his skull. “Literally the best one I’ve had in years.”

            He chuckled and patted their back. “Glad to hear it.”

            “Frisk!”

            They pulled back, smiling even despite Sans’ grumbles, to spot their ward waiting by the stairs. “Yes, my dear?”

            He jerked his head back towards the kitchen. “Mom left your cake in the kitchen too, apparently. Do you want to have some?”

            That perked both human and skeleton up. Together, the three of them joined Papyrus in the kitchen. The cake was a pretty little thing—despite Asriel’s hesitance to try any, the cake was a delicious layered white concoction with strawberries between layers and on top of the icing. Everyone had a piece and sat at the table; Frisk grinned as Sans savored his, Asriel dug in, and Papyrus gallantly agreed to let Asriel have his strawberry from his own slice when he begged. Sitting there, Frisk mused at their more recent birthdays—rarely were they home for their birthday and that usually meant they’d either spent it at some bar or party, or ignored it in favor of doing whatever they’d already been doing. Sure their parents insisted on having a party once they were home, but birthdays themselves had stopped meaning much to Frisk.

            Gazing around the table, eating delicious cake, and sitting the people that made them happiest, they were happy to realize how right then had been before. This literally was the best birthday they’d had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You_Light_The_Sky put in a request for "Asriel and Chara get excited for Frisk's birthday and they all go to Disney World" while I had to change it to a nondescript theme park--for various reasons, mostly being that they're actually much closer to Disneyland than World, also Disney would be a nightmare on Frisk's birthday--and couldn't work in Papyrus singing to actual Disney Villain songs, I did get him humming to peppy game murder music and Sans photobombing constantly. Sorry it took so long, but the chapter just kept getting away from me!
> 
> Btw, the skeleton staged train ride actually happened to me once and it was a big surprise for me--at Cedar Point, they randomly had a bunch of skeleton scenes set up. I don't know if that's there year round all the time, but that was in May. (Admittedly, this is years ago. Does anyone know if that's still a thing?) Also, as a kid, I was constantly getting lost and learned to approach workers to get them to page my family. Whoops.
> 
> I could have posted it last night, but it would have been an even bigger mess than it is now. I should probably just change my schedule to post on Fridays, since I've been very bad this month at keeping up with it. What say you?
> 
> I'll try and have another request done for next week.


	15. Dream a Little Dream of Me

            Frisk resigned themselves to the fact that they would never swim. The trauma of almost drowning from a malicious prank of a child ran too deep for them to face. They’d tried many times in different ways; they tried as a child when one of their foster parents thoughtlessly signed them up for lessons in a mistaken hope that it’d make them open up more to others. They’d tried again when they got older, with Undyne helping to train them like she had so many other things; they’d honestly thought she might be able to help them, but they’d ended up a weeping, inconsolable mess in her arms until she handed them over to Toriel for comfort. They’d even gone so far as to get professional therapists to help them, but each time ended in horrific panic attacks. By the time they were twenty, they’d permanently given up trying to learn how to swim and contented themselves to just watching from the sidelines, even if they were a little envious. They’d watch as their friends dove off high boards, swam on giant waves, or simply floated in the surf.

            Oddly, floating was the thing they envied the most—it looked so serene and effortless, but they couldn’t even manage that much. The best they could manage was a shaking, bobbing float in a hot tub.

            That’s how they know this was a dream; in it, they floated like a leaf, gently buoyed up by some mysterious force. They drifted in the middle of a still pond, surrounded by trees; it looked achingly familiar, not in the way dreams often felt familiar even if they didn’t exist in reality, but in a way that felt like they’d honestly been there once in their waking hours. Maybe they had—they had done a lot of traveling, had stumbled upon many a small pond in the woods while hiking.

            A breeze blew up, sending gentle waves across the pond’s surface. The waves caught their body and pushed it towards the shore. They let the motion of the water carry them until they felt their back scraping against the grit of the pond floor. They picked themselves up out of the water and admired the scenery for a few moments before they walked further up and flopped on the sandy bank of the pond.

            As they plopped back down at the edge of the water, they gazed out over the picturesque pond. Somewhere in the distance, a bird began to sing. They smiled.

            “It’s beautiful, right?”

            Frisk blinked and looked to their side.

            Themselves, younger and sweet, maybe thirteen years old, smiled back at them. “I think it’s beautiful.” They paused so they could stand up. It was then Frisk noted their odd clothes—a black and red striped sweater, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The pantyhose that was ripped, one entire leg missing, and runs running up every which way. They wore no shoes or boots and had a bright red ribbon in their hair. Frisk frowned as they walked out into the water until it was up around their ankles, taking their time to admire the scenery. “I love this place. Back before… well. You know. Before everything happened, I used to look up at Mount Ebott and think _god, what a beautiful mountain. How could anyone ever think it was cursed?”_ They shrugged. “Well, I guess they were right. Still, I loved this place—I found it on the way up and stayed here until a storm blew up and sent me running. But still, whenever I think about the surface world, I think of this pond and that precious time I spent here.”

            Frisk blinked. They had most certainly not lingered around any pond before they climbed higher up the mountain; it also hadn’t been storming then either.

            The other, younger Frisk, clasped their hands behind their back as they gazed out at nature around them. “I used to imagine that after escaping the Underground, me and Flowey—and Chara too—could all lay out here in the sun and just appreciate it for awhile. Do you think Asriel and Chara would like it? I hoped they would, but I doubt they know it exists.”

            They had also most definitely not had any such fantasies during their runs—they’d been too focused on staying alive and escaping, and then with freeing monsters, for such daydreaming. They hadn’t even really planned what they would do until everyone was standing at the mouth of the mountain, gazing out into the sunrise, and Toriel _asked_ what they would like to do.

            There was something else as well. On the other Frisk’s shoulders, Sans’ coat—and not their original’s Sans, but _this_ world’s Sans—rested, hanging around their arms. They reached up and tugged the coat around themselves, as if to warm themselves.

            “Oh,” they murmured, surprising themselves with the sound of their own voice. “You’re not me at all.”

            The other Frisk cautiously looked back at them. “No,” they began, voice small. “Is that… okay?”

            Frisk blinked. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

            The other looked away and fiddled with the zipper of the coat. “I just wasn’t… well, I wasn’t sure if you really wanted to talk to me. I…” they paused and looked back. Cautiously, they turned around and smiled. “I’ve been dying to talk to you all this time. You… you’re always asking me these questions and I try to shout back to you, to let you know those answers, but… Well. You just never seem to hear me.”

            Frisk looked at them for a long moment before they finally smiled back. “I wouldn’t have asked those questions if I hadn’t wanted answers.”

            The other Frisk’s tentative smile blossomed into joy and relief. They giggled a little—relief? Delight?—and then swiped at their eyes and nose before laughing again. “That… makes me really happy.”

            How to best respond to that? Frisk waited until their younger companion had control of themselves before gesturing them back to join them. After a moment, they walked back down and sat down in the surf with them. Frisk opened their mouth, paused, and then chuckled before trying again. “Where do we begin?”

            “I’m… not sure?” The younger Frisk pursed their lips. “Well, maybe we could start with some of those questions you asked me? Like, um—oh, I know. You know how you wonder if it’s you or me enjoying something? Well, mostly it’s _both_ of us. Or at least I think so? But only some things—like when we take those deep breaths of fresh air.”

            Frisk paused before smiling. “But only _some_ things? Which stuff do I do that you don’t like in particular?”

            Their younger self froze, face going dark as they grew flustered. “Um, well… well, to be honest, I don’t like cigarette smoke.” They held up their hands, like they were trying to stop them from doing something. “That’s not to say you have to stop smoking or whatever! It’s, like, your body too? Also, I can’t really taste or smell, so it doesn’t really bother me. But um, if you could, um, maybe not get drunk enough for hangovers? That’d be great.”

            “Can you feel pain from my end?” they asked, thoughtful.

            “Yes, but it’s… well, it’s more like it’s unpleasant than actual pain? Like, it’s smacking your hand off something as compared to breaking it. Actually, I meant the nausea. Vomiting, even if it’s someone else, just really grosses me out.”

            Frisk barked a laugh before they strangled it by clearing their throat. “I, um, I’ll try to remember that.” They paused, waiting to see if the other Frisk wanted a go.

            The other Frisk seemed to be waiting on them—when they realized that Frisk was waiting on them, they jumped and scrambled to think of something. “Um, what’s your favorite color?”

            Frisk laughed as the younger Frisk winced—apparently, that wasn’t really a question they’d been wanting to ask. “I’m one of those weirdoes who like yellow. What about you?””

            “Green,” they admitted, smiling softly. “And blue.”

            “I liked blue a lot as a kid,” they offered.

            “What do you think it says about us,” they began suddenly, paused, and then went on shyly. “What do you think it says about us that we have red souls, but neither of us picked it for our favorite?”

            Frisk shrugged. “Probably nothing much.”

            The other Frisk managed a smile, but then their eyes drifted back to the pond. “I… really wanted to show Flowey and Chara this place. I wanted to show them a lot of the surface. When we were underground, I… started forgetting how green everything is when it’s under the sun.” They turned to look at Frisk. “Why did you climb Mount Ebott when you were a kid?”

            Now it was Frisk’s turn to look away. It was far from the first time someone had asked them, and yet, for once they found themselves answering. “There was legend surrounding the mountain. That it was cursed, but more importantly for _me_ , that it was haunted. If you went to it, you’d meet the spirits of the dead. They could steal you away.” Frisk paused, looking up to the sky. “I was trying to find my mother and grandparents. I was hoping they’d come take me to go be with them.” They glanced at the other Frisk, who was watching with huge eyes. “Who do you look more like?”

            “Huh?”

            “Your parents. I look a lot like my dad, unfortunately-”

            “I think you look nice,” they interrupted.

            Frisk waved them off. “It’s not about whether he or I looked nice. It’s the fact that I look like _him._ Lucky, though, I did inherit my mother’s hair, so I got that going for me at least. So, who do you take after?”

            They considered it. “My mom.”

            “Kiddo, do you think your mom could still be at wherever you were living before you went up the mountain?” When the other Frisk fell silent, Frisk bit their lip but decided that they couldn’t let this one go. “If she’s out there, worried about you, I need to let her know what happened to you.” They paused, grimacing. “I want to let _someone_ know at least.”

            “Don’t bother,” they other Frisk said, softly. “She doesn’t care. Nobody back there did. So, don’t waste your time worrying about it.”

            Frisk looked at them, trying to ignore the way their heart ached—that tone sounded so familiar to them. _God, we really are alike._ “Why did _you_ come to the mountain?”

            “…I was running away,” they admitted, voice just above a whisper. “I… hated it there. No one cared, no one wanted me. I was just a burden that drove everyone nuts, so I… I left.”

            Frisk paused and nodded. “Yeah. I know that feeling.” The two stayed quiet for a while, listening to the wind and watching the waves ripple across the water. Frisk glanced at their younger counterpart; they were curled up, knees tucked up to their chest as they gazed out at the pond. Looking at them, Frisk smiled softly. “Hey.” They waited until the other glanced at them and then grinned. “What’s your favorite food?”

            They laughed, relaxing a little. “It’s, um, weird. You see, there was this taco truck down the street from where I lived. They sold tacos—two for a buck.” They closed their eyes and for a moment, they smiled. “I could live on those tacos, two a day, every day.” They laughed, but didn’t bother to hide when they swiped their wrist again their right eye. “I’d kinda forgotten about it.” They bit their bottom lip. “I’d give anything to have one again.” They sighed, but then managed a small smile. “What’s yours?”

            “Watermelon.” Frisk held their hands out, miming a giant watermelon. “I could eat a whole one, this size, by myself.” They dropped their hands as the other Frisk giggled. “And I was a champion seed spitter. I could get a couple of yards even if I stood still.”

            “Impressive.”

            “Well, I thought so.”

            The other Frisk giggled again, trying to press their hands against their mouth as if it would stop them.

            Looking at them, Frisk had to smile. “I’m going to be sad when I wake up.”

            The other paused, smile fading as they looked at them. “Why?”

            “Because I’m going to forget this. I can tell.”

            Long moments of silence stretched before the other Frisk managed a weak smile. “Then… do you mind if we… if we talk for awhile?”

            “I’d like that.”

            They sat and talked, switching who asked who questions and then trading off how serious each question was. Time passed strangely—it was always the same time, and yet, it felt like hours were passing. One moment, Frisk was chuckling after asking a silly question only to pause.

            “What’s—oh,” the other Frisk froze. “You’re… you’re waking up, aren’t you?”

            “I don’t think I can help it,” they admitted reluctantly.

            That only seemed to pain the other Frisk more; they turned to them, leaning in to the space between them. “I still have so much I wanted to talk to you about! That’s just—it’s not…”

            “I know.”

            “I—wait, there _is_ something I need to tell you! You, back then, you wanted to know—know what I thought about everything that happened. About you taking my place, about living there, about the deal I made. I just, I wanted to let you know, I don’t,” they paused, too flustered to speak for a moment. As Frisk waited, they felt like they were drifting away again, back out into the pond. Before they vanished, however, the other Frisk found their voice. “I don’t regret any of it! I’m so, so happy about everything—about what you’ve done for monsters, for humans, for our friends. For Sans and Chara and Fl… for Asriel.”

            The water swelled up around them, pulling them further away. Just before the water plunged into their ears, deafening them, they heard the other Frisk one last time.

            “Thank you… thank you for everything. And please… please keep them safe for me.”

            Frisk closed their eyes and when they opened them they were in their bedroom. Sans was pressed close, head against their collarbone. Looking at their phone, they saw that it was barely past three o’clock—they’d been down maybe an hour. And yet, their blood was humming in their veins and Frisk had no idea why. With a sigh, Frisk untangled themselves from Sans and sat on the edge of the bed. Gazing into the dark shadows of the room, Frisk tried to remember something—something important.

            It didn’t come.

            Instead, Frisk felt their stomach grumbling. With a sigh, they stood to walk downstairs—maybe they’d find a snack and then do the dishes for a while—but then paused. Their stomach growled again, louder, and then Frisk walked straight to their pants.

            In the bed, Sans twitched hard and rolled over to find them pulling on their pants. “Babe, what the fuck are you doing?”

            “I gotta go.”

            “Babe, it’s like-” he checked his own phone. “Christ, Frisk, it’s not even three thirty. Come back to bed.”

            They finished buttoning their pants and walked over to press a kiss to the side of his head. “Sorry, but I gotta go. Won’t be long. Just go back to sleep.”

            “Frisk, _where_ are you going?”

            “I, mm, dunno? I’m taking my bike, so just go back to sleep.” They didn’t even grab their binder, didn’t grab one of their own shirts, just found one of Sans’ sweaters that hadn’t made it to the hamper yet. It was slightly damp from where one of their used towels had fallen on it, but Frisk didn’t mind as they yanked it over their head. When they turned around Sans was sitting up on the edge of the bed, rubbing the heel of his hand into one of his eye socket. “Go back to sleep, love. You can’t have gotten enough yet.”

            “Oh and you have? No, fuck no, if you’re running off in the night, I’m coming with you.”

            Frisk paused, but didn’t quite manage to catch their irritated sigh—their blood was pounding in their ears now. “I’m not running, I just… I need something. I’ll be back in an hour, tops.”

            “Well, good,” he retorted, standing up and searching for clothes of his own. “Then that means I’ll have time to grab some sleep when we get back. Have you seen my sweater?”

            “I’m wearing it. You want it back?”

            He paused for a moment, staring at them intently before he managed to speak again, voice tight. “Keep it.” He immediately began to look for a replacement.

            In spite of their need, Frisk grinned. “You _like_ seeing me in your stuff.”

            “Are we going or not?”

            Frisk forgot about teasing him in favor of hustling out the door. They had to force themselves to walk their motorcycle down to the corner so they didn’t wake up the entire block, but more specifically Asriel and Papyrus.

            Sans sat silently behind them as they drove, but they knew he was curious where they were going. They were just a little embarrassed to admit they weren’t sure themselves, so they were glad when he didn’t ask.

            Frisk didn’t know why they had to drive where they did, taking turns and back roads into the seedier parts of town. There were a few people still out on the streets, watching them curiously until Frisk at last turned back onto a main road and abruptly stopped.

            Sans leaned back, trying to get a look at them as they craned their head down the street. He could only watch in bemused silence as Frisk turned one last time, but this time let the bike idly take them up the street.

            Frisk killed the engine and took off their helmet.

            Sans did the same and raised his brow ridges at what he saw. “A taco truck? Babe, are you telling me you dragged us out of bed so you could get tacos?”

            Frisk hummed, not quite an answer, and climbed off the bike.

            He followed behind them as they walked up to the truck and banged on the side to get the attention of people inside. He stood back and waited as they ordered a pair of tacos—one of human make, one of monster—and then walked back to him. They offered him one as they walked back to the bike; with the air of long suffering, he accepted it. Taking a bite into it, he had to pause. “Okay. That’s pretty goddamn good for being a dollar taco.”

            “Fifty cents taco,” Frisk corrected quietly, leaning against the bike even as the engine put off heat, devouring their taco. “Two for a dollar.”

            Sans narrowed his eyes as they wolfed down their food. “Easy, babe. It’s not going anywh—babe? Are you crying?”

            Frisk sucked on their fingers before they finally swiped at their eyes. “I just… I was hungry. I had to come here.”

            He paused before offering his own taco. To his surprise, they actually accepted although they at least tried to slow down as they ate the other taco. “Good lord, were you starving? You’re still crying.”

            “I—I know, I just…” they paused and laughed as they scrubbed their face again. “I feel like I’m eating for two.”

            Sans was suddenly glad he’d handed his taco over because he would have dropped it then. “You can’t even—what the hell did _that_ mean?”

            Frisk only laughed again, still rubbing their face. “I, I dunno. I think I had a weird dream.”

            “Some dream,” he snorted. “What happened in it?”

            They paused, frowning at the sting of more tears. “I don’t remember.” They looked at him. “Maybe that’s why I’m sad.”

            He stared at them, feeling completely lost. Finally, he gave up and tried the only thing he could think of—he opened his arms to them.

            Without a word, they reached out and latched on to him; he patted their back until their breathing became steady and slow again. When they at last pulled away, they smiled. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

            “A weird dream fucked you up. Happens to all of us. Let’s just go home,” he paused, looking them over. “ _Can_ you go home?”

            “Yeah… sounds good.” They chuckled as they finished wiping their tears away. “I feel silly, dragging us out here just to eat some tacos because of a dream I don’t even remember.” Shaking their head, they twisted about so they could straddle their bike.

            “Don’t sweat it,” he said, climbing up behind them and taking his helmet as they handed it to him.

            Watching him sleepily fumble with his helmet, Frisk found themselves smiling mischievously. “Still, I kinda feel I should make it up to you. How about when we get home, we can fuck while I wear your coat?”

            Sans promptly choked. “…you couldn’t offer me that when I’m not about to fall over?”

            Frisk laughed and started the bike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A_Ghost asked for some Data!Frisk and Fell!Frisk interacting in a dream. Too bad Frisk can't remember the dream--or at least, not consciously.


	16. Wedded Bliss

            Sometimes, Frisk noticed echoes of their original’s world in this world. Someone would say something and it was like they were back in the other world—Mettaton would shout out to his audience in the middle of a show and Frisk was transported back. Papyrus would laugh to himself, pleased, and then Frisk’s eyes would be stinging. Sans would say a joke, Toriel would laugh, and it was like they were eight again.

            Undyne pounded on doors the exact same way in both worlds—hard enough to knock the thing half off its hinges. “You got a shitty door,” she announced as she barged into the kitchen, Alphys scuttling in behind her, mumbling something to the effect of “you’re supposed to be taking it easy…” but Undyne didn’t’ seem to hear.

            “Ah, yeah,” Frisk nodded, frowning as the door listed like a drunk three sheets to the wind while Asriel cooed in admiration. “We’ll have to look into getting a stronger one next time.”

            “Damn straight. What kind of outfit is Papyrus and Sans running here, if I can bust in the door with only four hits?”

            “Undyne, darling, light of my life, you could knock _any_ door down with only four hits,” Frisk shot back, putting their hands on their hips. “I just wish you hadn’t chosen to prove me right by using my own door.”

            Undyne laughed as she dropped into a chair at the table; Alphys shuffled behind her and sensibly took the one farthest from Asriel, who was already sliding away from them. While Undyne might be happy to bulldoze through any awkward atmosphere and Frisk could lighten the mood deftly, his memories of Flowey didn’t endear either of them to him. Rather than have him get up and move closer to Frisk, they tossed aside the dishtowel they’d been using to dry dishes and joined them at the table.

            “So, then,” Frisk began, pulling their chair out. “Is there something we can do for you guys, or did you just drop in to say hi?”

            Alphys instantly began to fidget, but Undyne seemed to swell with glee. “We have an announcement to make!” she declared loudly. “Al and me are moving in together!”

            Frisk blinked while Asriel sat up. “Congratulations,” he said diplomatically.

            Frisk was still staring. “I thought you two already lived with each other?”

            The monsters froze, looking at them. “What? No,” Undyne spoke first, frowning at them. “Why would we be living together already?”

            _Well, to be fair,_ Frisk thought, _they haven’t been able to move out of the Underground yet._ While Frisk, Asriel and Chara, Sans, and Papyrus had been some of the first to move to a home outside of subterranean kingdom, some monsters had to stay put. Not all monsters were taking to letting ‘kill or be killed’ go and weren’t being allowed to interact with humans yet, being confined mostly to the mountains until they were willing to integrate. Undyne had to stay behind to keep an eye on such monsters. Alphys, Frisk knew, was still working on projects and the Core, so she’d also been staying behind. So, they must only now just have settled on a house. Still, they really hadn’t been living together all that time?

            “Well, considering I know you two have been together a long time and you two always seem to be together anyway, I just assumed.”

            They were _still_ staring at them; if anything everyone’s stares seemed to only show mounting disbelief.

            “Moving in together,” Alphys began, speaking delicately, but for once it didn’t seem to be out of embarrassment—more like she thought Frisk was being stupid, “is a big deal.”

            “Well, yeah, it’s a big step in any relationship, I know…” they paused, frowning. “I get the funny feeling I’m missing something here.”

            “Frisk,” Asriel whispered, leaning towards them, “it means they’re getting married.”

            Frisk stared at him. “I—oh! Oh, I’m sorry, I’d just-” they paused as laughter spilled out of their mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry—geez, congrats, you two!”

            Undyne laughed; Alphys even chuckled, a warm sound. She was still taking her time coming around to Frisk, but when she looked up at the ambassador, Frisk thought she might have seen fondness there.

            “You had us worried for a minute there, punk,” Undyne snorted. “You looked we handed you a dead bird and you had to figure out a way to thank us for it.”

            Frisk laughed harder—what the hell kind of expression was _that_?—and just shrugged. “I’m sorry, I’d just never heard that euphemism before.”

            This time even Alphys snorted. “I-it’s not a euphemism. We’re really moving in together.”

            Frisk blinked. “Oh, so you’re moving in together _and_ getting married?” They tried a cheerful—if baffled—smile. “So, do I need to get you a house warming gift _and_ a wedding present, or just one or the other?”

            “Both,” Undyne answered with a cackle while Alphys frowned.

            “Frisk, monsters get married _by_ moving in with each other,” she explained before pausing. “I thought you knew?”

            Frisk paused, their surprise killing their amusement. “I… no? Why would I?”

            “Oh,” Undyne murmured, shifting in her seat to stare at them, head cocked to one side. “That’s not how it was in that other place?”

            They shook their head. “Uh, no. They had actual wedding ceremonies.”

            Alphys shook her head. “T-there haven’t been wedding ceremonies in years.”

            “Too easy to set up big ambushes,” Undyne grunted with a nod. “You gather all these people together in one place with invitations beforehand? People were going to die.”

            “So, when monsters a-announce they’re moving in together, that means there as good as married anyway.”

            Undyne was still nodding. “If you trust someone enough to live with them with the Edict going, that means a hell of a lot.”

            “Aw, actually that’s really sweet.” Frisk smiled but then froze. A shiver shot up their spine. “Uh. So, um. Moving in together—that’s all you need to do to get married? At least for monsters?”

            Undyne and Alphys shared a look. “Uh, yeah?”

            “More specifically it’s letting others know you’ve j-joined households.”

            Frisk began to notice the pointedly considering look Alphys was giving them. Frisk knew that look.

            That was the Shipping look, the look their Alphys wore whenever she found her newest pair of people she wanted to ship. Frisk would know that look in the depths of their nightmares, but they’d yet to see it on _this_ Alphys. They’d been both relieved and sad to think they’d never see it again.

            Seeing it now, Frisk began to sweat. “Wait. So… so. So everyone knows I live with Sans, Papyrus, and the kids.”

            Undyne considered them; Alphys was honing in on them. Asriel just looked confused.

            Frisk paused, eyes widening. “Oh, goddamnit. That’s why all those reporters—fuck, I thought it was just reporters making up shit for tabloids—oh god, there’s been so many of those articles about who I was with, I just thought they were funny and-” They looked away, confusion muddling their thoughts; Undyne and Alphys looked downright delighted. “Wait, who does this mean I’m—oh god damn?”

            Undyne pounded her fists against the table, eyes dancing and her jaw hanging open in a giant smile. “You don’t _know_ who you’re MARRIED TO?”

            “Oh my god,” Alphys muttered, eyes wide. She looked like Frisk had just handed her a present.

            Asriel sunk lower into his seat.

            Frisk blanched. “I—oh god, I’m _fucking married—_ no! No, wait!” they slapped their own hands against the table, head jerking up as memories assaulted them. “Papyrus said way back then, when they let me come live with them that I would—Sans was the one to say I could—Papyrus said I’d be moving in with _Sans_ , not him!” They paused and gripped their hair with both hands. “Holy fuck, I’ve been _married_ to _Sans_ for a whole year _and that little shit never told me!”_

            Undyne positively howled, cracking the table as she banged her fist off it. Alphys looked like she was choking on her own laughter.

            Asriel covered his face with his hands and groaned.

            “What the fuck is going on in here,” started in a new voice, cutting through the laughter, “and why is the fucking door broken?”

            Frisk’s head jerked up to see Sans frowning at the door while Papyrus, arms full with grocery bags, stared in at them. “You!” Frisk shouted, jumping to their feet and pointing at Sans who promptly flinched in surprise. _“You married me and didn’t even tell me about it?”_

            There was a moment of pure silence from Sans who began to sweat. Papyrus smirked and then Undyne and Alphys nearly died laughing.

            Rather than do anything, Sans promptly teleported, although the faint thud from upstairs gave him away.

            Frisk darted towards the stairs. “Oh no, you fucking don’t! Sans, get back here and explain this shit!”

            In the kitchen, Papyrus started laughing as well. Asriel, half out of his chair, sighed while Chara tried to send him soothing calmness despite their own mirth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys remember all the way back to chapter eight of The World, Upside Down, where Frisk upset the two guards because 01 wouldn't announce they moved in together? Turns out, 02 was pretty miffed for a reason.
> 
> Also, that joke from a few chapters back where Frisk teases Sans about owing them a honeymoon? He really does.
> 
> Trying to get back to requests next week. I'm also planning to repost the edited chapters for The World, so I want to get that started too.


	17. I'm still waiting for you to come back to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this is so very late, guys. While I don't want to give a lot of lame excuses, I feel as though I owe you the truth of why this took so long.
> 
> A few weeks ago, my father was admitted to a hospital--he's okay now! Let me just say that! But for a few weeks, he's been staying in a hospitals which were several hours away from my home, so I didn't get a chance to visit him. Now he's in a care facility for awhile, but he's only a few minutes away. I've been spending time with him and trying to catch up on the same time, but with everything going on, my source of inspiration took a heavy hit. That said, I finally got this chapter done. Sorry it took so long.

            Despite the fact that their house on the surface held a dishwasher, Papyrus remained hell bent on his decision to wash dishes by hand. Frisk never figured out why, nor could Chara or Asriel worm the truth out of him. Sans only sighed when asked. But, Frisk did have a theory.

            It occurred to them one night as they helped Papyrus dry the dishes. Frisk had no love of doing the dishes, especially since it meant they had to take off one pair of gloves in exchange for another pair of rubber ones because they refused to go gloveless. Still, they liked the easy banter they could fall into with Papyrus as he handed them one dish after another.

            They didn’t remember how they got on the subject, but the moment the seed of their theory planted began when Papyrus handed them a fistful of forks as he scoffed. “I don’t see why it’s so important for humans to take so long a time off work after they give birth. They can’t need that long to recover, can they?”

            Frisk snorted as they set the bundle of forks down to pick up each one for a rub down. “That’s easy for you to say, most monsters don’t have live births and they certainly don’t carry their babies for nine months.”

            “Nine months?” he gasped in disgust, nearly letting a casserole dish slip from his fingers back into the soapy water. “Human babies take nine months to make?!”

            “Well, the making bit is the fast part. It takes a long time for the baby to grow though.”

            Papyrus shook his head. “It’s a wonder humans have children at all. I’d never want to be a father if I had to carry a baby around for nine months, waiting for it to hatch.”

            “That’s not how skeletons gave birth last I knew,” Frisk drawled back, but still they smiled in amusement. “You really wouldn’t want to be a father at all?”

            He paused, eyeing them for a moment before returning to the dishes. “Well, as a skeleton, I wouldn’t have to do any of that, so that’s entirely different.” He was silent for a moment as he rinsed the casserole dish and handed it to them. Once he did, he quietly went on. “Not that I’ll have children.”

            “Oh? Don’t want any?”

            “That’s neither here nor there,” he evaded, picking up a new dish. “I don’t know anything about babies for one. And I don’t have another skeleton I’d want to _make_ a child with either.”

            Frisk considered their words for a moment as they dried the dishes. “I was under the impression that that didn’t really hinder your or Sans’ birth.”

            Papyrus froze, but he looked more contemplative than upset. He went back to washing.

            Not wanting to leave the conversation on a sour note, Frisk nudged him with their elbow. When he looked at them, they smiled. “If it counts for anything, I think you’d make a pretty decent dad. You make an awesome big brother for Asriel and Chara.”

            For a moment, Papyrus stared at them, uncomprehending. Then, in the next, his skull turned a bright, flaming red. He jerked his head away as if they’d flashed him a look of something indecent rather than complimented him. “T-that _really_ has nothing to do with anything!”

            They raised an eyebrow at him and tried not to grin at his reaction. “What, you don’t think so? I’m sure if we’d ask them, they’d agree with me.”

            Papyrus made a tight noise and turned farther from them.

            They leaned forward, trying to crane their head around to see his expression. He only turned more; it gave them an idea. “I happen to know _for a fact_ that they _both_ think you make a great older brother.”

            Bingo—he squirmed, but judging by the flash of a smile they caught on his face before he turned again he was pleased. “Of course I’m a good brother. I’ve had plenty of practice,” he muttered, but his voice was very small.

            Curious to see how far they could push this, the nudged him in the back with their elbow again. “They said you’re very patient with them, that you always listen to them and make them feel important.” They were amused by the tiny noises of joy that seemed to squeak out of him at every point. With a grin, they leaned into his back, their side flush against him. “And you make them feel safe too.”

            Papyrus planted his face right into the middle of his soapy palms.

            _Tsundere_ , Frisk thought, and decided to really lay it on thick. “And, you know, from what I heard, you’re a hit with the other kids in their class too. Did you know that there’s apparently a trend going around their class for all the kids to wear bandanas like yours?”

            “…because of me?”

            “Uh huh. They think you’re the coolest. But,” they added, with a grin. “It’s not like we all didn’t know that already.”

            That did it. Papyrus crouched down, tucking his head between his knees, still clasped into his hands, and let out a muffled scream.

            With a laugh, Frisk leaned down and tossed their arms around his shoulders, not that he reacted much to them. “D’aww, Papyrus, be happy! Everyone knows how great you are at last, right?”

            “What’s going on in here?”

            Frisk turned, peeking up over the kitchen’s island to see Sans leaning against the door frame. “Sans!” they laughed, about to explain everything when they paused at the look on his face. In their moment of silent consideration, Papyrus made a funny noise and jumped to his feet.

            Or rather, he tried. As he shot up, Frisk’s arms snagged across his neck, hoisting them up off their feet so that their arms locked around his neck. He choked—not that Frisk was sure how that worked, since he didn’t have a trachea—until he leaned backwards, taking their weight off his neck.

            “Oops,” they muttered, loosening their arms so that their hands rested against his shoulders. “Sorry about that. You okay?”

            “I’m fine,” he grumbled, rubbing his neck.

            Smiling sheepishly, they patted his shoulder as he turned back to the sink. “Aw, do you want me to kiss it and make it better?”

            With a strangled yell, he shoved their hands away and then pushed his hands into their face, pushing them back. “Go play kissy face with someone else and leave me be!”

            They laughed at his flustered reaction until he shoved his hands back into the water, grumbling. They smiled at him, but when they turned to look to Sans, they paused at the expression on his face. _There it is again,_ they thought, lips thinning. _He looks so… wistful._

            Before they could open their mouth to speak, he turned and slipped back out of the kitchen. Curious, Frisk wandered out after him, mumbling an excuse to Papyrus as they trailed after him. He’d only climbed three steps by the time they hurried out of the kitchen. “Sans?” they called softly.

            He paused, hand still on the banister. After a moment, he looked back at them. “Yeah, babe?”

            _Something’s definitely up._ “Did you need something back there? You kinda just wandered away without getting anything.”

            He looked back up the stairs, but didn’t move to start climbing them again. “Just… curious what all the noise was about.”

            “We were just being silly,” they offered. Could that be what was bothering him? But it wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have seen in the long months since the Barrier came down and they had left the Underground. Why would it start bothering him now? “Something up?”

            “What makes you think something’s up?”

            _These two and their evasions._ “Well, for one, you won’t even look at me.”

            As if to prove a point, he focused his gaze on their eyes. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

            _No go. Have to try something else._ “Alright,” they said reluctantly. “If you’re sure.”

            “I am,” he paused and glanced away. “Boss’s probably waiting for you. You should get back in there.”

            They haven’t heard him call Papyrus ‘boss’ in months; it felt like a bad sign. They cleared their throat delicately before they reached up and began shedding the rubber gloves. “Actually, I think I might have teased him a little too much. So, I’m probably not a person he wants to see right now.” Once their hands were free, they quickly pulled on the gloves they’d been wearing beforehand—fingerless, stretchy fabric that let their hands breathe after the dense rubber. With a smile, they offered him the rubber gloves. “You want to take my place instead? He could still probably use a hand in there.”

            He refused to meet their eyes and instead let his gaze quickly slide away from the gloves. They resisted the urge to bite their lip or even frown, but still his shoulders stayed tense, like he could feel their disappointment anyway. “I’ll pass,” he rumbled and they realized that they were pushing their luck. He froze and then went on, almost like an apology. “I’d just get in the way.”

            Frisk considered him for a moment before they climbed a few more stairs so that their heights were matched. “I don’t think you get in the way,” they declared, but instead of giving him time to argue, they reached out and wound their arms around his neck, pressing their face to the side of his skull. “But if you insist. Want to come take a bath with me instead?”

            He chuckled, but it wasn’t until he slid one arm around their waist that the tension in his shoulders bled out. “Don’t need one. I took one yesterday.”

            Frisk snorted—which got another chuckle out of him—but didn’t give in. “Then come keep me company.”

            That one he could agree to. By the time they climbed out of the shower and toweled their body off, he looked asleep on the bed. When they stepped out into their bedroom, he stayed reclining, but he opened one eye socket.

            They paused only to lock the bedroom door before they dropped their used towel and climbed into bed. It was early to be doing this—they could still hear Asriel playing a video game in the living room, although they could hear Papyrus talking, which meant he was probably sending the prince to bed soon—but Frisk couldn’t find it in them to care as they crawled onto the bed. They noticed, as they reached for Sans, that the rubber gloves were still sitting on their nightstand. They forced themselves to look away, but they allowed themselves a moment to be thoughtful as their thumb idly traced the arch of Sans’ cheekbone. When he grunted a questioning noise at them, they turned to him with a smile.

            As they slipped closer to him, the plan’s seed started to bloom. It was sneaky and underhanded, but then, well, Frisk _was_ a politician after all.

 

 

 

            Sans knew exactly what Frisk was doing. He wasn’t an idiot, or at least he knew how to pick up a hint when it fell into his life like some cartoony anvil from the sky. The damning thing was Frisk knew that too—which made it all the more galling because they knew and they knew that _he_ knew that they knew it. And yet, they went ahead and did as they pleased anyway—which was hilarious and fantastic to watch them steamroll over someone else, but a lot less funny when it happened to you. And they weren’t cruel about it either, so complaining just looked petty and childish. So, he had two options—either acknowledge they were up to something and face exactly what he had no interest in doing, or ignore it and then try to ignore them in turn. Which just made him look _more_ childish. So, instead he was stuck with either facing up to whatever they wanted or hiding from the problem, but even that didn’t work because it just gave him all the more time to think about it and realize that he _was_ being childish.

            Frisk was goddamn devious (to be honest, it was also kinda hot, but he’d never admit to that at least). And it was _working._

            Their plan was simple: all they had to do was leave those damn rubber gloves on their nightstand. His mind did the rest for them.

            It started so innocuously at first. He’d woken up, still lying on his side from where he’d fallen asleep the night before, which meant the first thing he saw was their side of the bed and their nightstand just beyond it. Even in his groggy mindset, he could still see the yellow of the gloves glaring at him. For a moment, he thought back to the night before—of Frisk and Papyrus, so light and carefree, and you would think _they_ were the actual siblings and he

            He cut the thought off there. Then he got up and dragged himself downstairs; once down there, he promptly forgot about the gloves in favor of the pot of tepid coffee Frisk had left him.

            Later that night, the gloves were there again on the nightstand. He frowned at them—well, as close as he could get to a frown, which was more of a grimace—but ignored them in favor of paperwork he and Frisk had forgotten the night before. Once the lights went out and the gloves were hidden from sight again, he forgot them.

            But the next morning they were still there—and that made sense, he reminded himself—and so were those first few thoughts. So, he got up and forgot about them again in favor of Frisk and coffee before work.

            By the third morning, he let himself actually glare at them for a moment before he got up. Still, rather than dwell on his thoughts, he scooped up the gloves and carried them down with him. He dropped them by the sink before grabbing his coffee, but Frisk’s voice made him pause.

            “Oh? Where’d you get the gloves?”

            Even his sleep-addled mind could pick up that falseness in their voice. When he paused to glance at them, their face was perfectly bland, which was a giant giveaway. Right then he knew that _something_ was up. He just didn’t know what yet. Still, they’re waiting on an answer and he can’t think of a good reason not to answer them. “It was sitting on your nightstand for awhile.”

            They shrugged and drink their coffee. “Eh, sounds about right. I’m always putting stuff in weird places.”

            Papyrus once had a meltdown when he found a slice of pizza they’d put on top of pile of books—expect, they hadn’t said anything and he’d dropped a stack of more books on the plate without looking at it. It had ruin the back cover of _Advanced Guerrilla Warfare And You_ and Frisk had to buy him a new copy before he forgave them. Another time they’d tossed their briefcase into the washer and would have ruined it if Asriel hadn’t noticed before turning the machine on. To say that Frisk had a bad habit of putting shit in weird places was an understatement.

            So, he mumbled something and got his coffee.

            For two days, he’d woken up and silently rejoiced in the fact that the gloves hadn’t accosted him first thing with their existence. But then Frisk helped dry dishes again. He remembered that clearly because he’d paused outside the kitchen, listening to their easy banter before he went upstairs.

            The gloves were there again when he woke up the next morning. It was then he was certain that Frisk was up to something and he had a pretty good idea what it was.

            So, now he was down to the two simple solutions: face whatever it was Frisk wanted him to do or ignore it until they either forgot or brought it up themselves. Usually they didn’t bring up delicate problems on their own if it wasn’t an emergency, but once Frisk got an idea in their head, it was hard to distract them from it. Sans considered his options and promptly decided to ignore it in favor of doing nothing.

            For an entire month, he did his best to ignore the gloves. When he got up in the morning, he would turn over in bed and then pull himself out of it, or he would keep his eyes shut until he swung his body away from their direction. One time he was so sick of looking at them, he fell asleep on Frisk’s side before they went to bed, his body turned in the opposite direction so he wouldn’t have to face them first thing. But that meant that Frisk’s back was to the windows and dark shadows enveloped them so he couldn’t see them in the moonlight like he usually could. That did not make for a great night either.

            Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He tossed the gloves away and made sure that he hid them in an out of the way spot that no one would find them again. He got a decent night’s sleep for once, even if he fell asleep feeling torn about being happy it was gone and feeling a tad disappointed in himself for slinking away from the inevitable.

            When he woke up the next morning, the gloves had returned. He knew they weren’t even the same gloves—these were green and were still in their packaging. He stared at them for a long time before he finally got up, grabbed the hateful things, and then stomped down the stairs.

            Frisk was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee and listening to the radio over by the sink.

            He dropped the gloves next to them. “Where did these come from and why are they in our bedroom?”

            Frisk blinked down at them for a moment before they yawned. “Couldn’t sleep again last night. So I decided to burn off some energy and drove down to that minimart that’s always open. They had some stuff there and then I spotted those gloves. Do you know that our other gloves disappeared yesterday? Papyrus couldn’t find them.”

            He gave them a flat look. “He doesn’t tell me shit.”

            “That’s a lie and we both know it,” they grunted back; their lack of sleep was showing. If they weren’t so tired, that would have sounded more teasing and less exasperated. Still, they had a point.

            “He doesn’t tell me shit _like that_ ,” he amended and Frisk shrugged, still nursing their coffee. For a moment, he forgot the gloves to really look at them. “Maybe you should talk to your doc. Your sleep schedule’s all fucked up.”

            “It’s been that way since I was six years old,” they answered. “Drove my grandfather nuts since it meant I made racket at all hours of the night unless he made me sleep in his bed with him because otherwise I’d get up and play.”

            He chuckled, and for a moment, he thought about just ignoring the gloves. Frisk was determined, but they’d made a mistake by not being awake enough to realize they could pressure him into finally confronting them. He considered it and finally sighed. “Frisk, just what is it that you want from me?”

            They looked at him, bleary eyed, until he tapped the gloves’ packing with a fingertip. They seemed to wake up for a moment, but then they grimaced and fell quiet. They were thinking it over now and finally they spoke. “I’m honestly not awake enough for this conversation yet, so can we come back to this tonight?”

            He snorted but then pressed a hand to his left temple. He really was too tired for this as well, but seriously, who would suspect him of finally wanting to face something? Of course, the one time he’d want to, the other party wouldn’t be ready to do the same. He sighed. “Yeah, fuck it. I need my coffee anyway.”

             Frisk made some empathetic grunt back at him as he got up to get his coffee.

 

 

 

            He tried to forget about it, but the knowledge of the coming conversation loomed over his day like a dark shadow, making him antsy to the point of not being able to nap during the most boring of meetings. Frisk started shooting him looks and offered to let him sleep in their office instead of going to meetings with them. The thought of sitting in that stuffy office, stewing in his anxieties, made him shudder, so he stuck with them through the rest of the day.

            By the time they both got home, he was starting to actively hope that they could get there faster, just so they could get it over with. When they walked in the door, he was half tempted just to pull them up to their room, but Asriel pounced. Turned out the kid had some sort of writing assignment he needed help with that was due the next day. He watched Frisk sigh in amusement as they let Asriel drag them to the couch to work, and then stood awkwardly before resigning himself to just having to wait until after supper to talk to them.

            He started for the stairs but paused outside the kitchen’s doorway and peeked in; his brother was muttering darkly as he scrutinized a cookbook while dark smoke billowed up from a pot. Already a motley collection of dishes was sitting in the sink. His brother could nearly be determined as Frisk when it came to cooking and it looked like he’d really gotten the bit between his teeth today if he was willing to try and cook something at least three times if the dishes in the sink were anything to go by. Either the fifth time was going to be the charm, or he’d eventually give in and concede to take out.

            Looking at him, for a moment, Sans looked through the present and into the past, saw a pair of young skeletons huddled around a camping stove. There’d been a proper stove and oven somewhere in the Lab, but they’d hadn’t been allowed to use it without supervision. At least it wasn’t a Bunsen burner like they once caught the old man using before to heat up frozen burritos. They’d managed to put some cups of water on to boil successfully, even got it to a roiling bubble just fine, and then they dumped handfuls after handfuls of rice and slapped a lid on the pot. He’d grinned at Papyrus then, watching in amusement as his baby brother—maybe three years old—laughed in delight as he shoved his hands into the bag of rice the old man had brought them, entranced by the feeling of rice grains shifting around his phalanges. Hell, Sans stuck his hand in too—it felt strange and nice. They didn’t even notice the pot boiling over until all at once they noticed a funny smell in the air—and you knew it had to be bad then, for them to smell it—and turned to see that piles of rice had escaped the pot and burned against the stove’s element. The bottom of the rice in the pot was also dark. The old man made them eat a couple spoonfuls, just to teach them to never be so careless again, but then they’d both started to cry at the awful taste, so he’d gave in and let them stop before rummaging around for something else they could eat.

            Too bad Papyrus seemed to have forgotten that lesson. For a moment, the memory of their childhood silenced anxieties that haunted nearly all his waking moments and most of his nightmares and he lifted his head and

            A new memory bloomed, unbidden. Snow drifted down around them, the wind made the trees moan, and around him the Canine Unit—the remains of it, rather—gaped at him and Papyrus. Papyrus, tiny and lost inside the baggy snowsuit the old man made him wear despite his protests, stood, arms still upraised and shaking as Doggo’s dust drifted down onto the snow just for a moment before the wind started to blow it away. The Dogs had scrambled then, to collect the dust quickly before it was all lost. They had taken their chance to escape then. He’d walked Papyrus back home; the old man had found them and set about comforting Papyrus’s near hysterical tears. He’d tucked himself into a corner, gripped his hands around his skull, and tried to hold himself tight enough that he wouldn’t immediately shake to pieces.

            Then the world corrected itself and he found himself in the present again, his voice still ready to escape past his teeth. He blinked, once, twice, then turned on his heel and walked up the stairs.

            _Whatever Frisk thinks about me and him, they’re wrong. Whatever idea they got in their head, they can just keep it to themselves._ He was at the top of the stairs in record time—well, his record, anyway—and stalking silently to his room. Once he was inside, he paused. He was in such a hurry to get there, but now he had no idea just what he was supposed to do. He pondered, for a moment, just going out onto the balcony and having a smoke, but even that didn’t sound good now. Instead, he flopped onto the bed, not because he was tired, but because he wanted to just stop being awake. The moment he hit the mattress though, a wave of kinetic energy shot down his bones, rattling him into hyperawareness.

            He was lying on Frisk’s side, but he couldn’t bring himself to climb up and crawl over into his. Instead, he tossed an arm over his eyes. And yet, something prompted him to glance to his right, to see Frisk’s nightstand.

            There were no gloves there at the moment—Frisk hadn’t had time or a chance yet to bring them back, not that there was a reason to now. Still, the absence seemed to be an offense onto itself and he couldn’t stop staring at the glaring vacancy.

            There was a stack of dishes in the kitchen, probably growing again at the very moment. Even if Papyrus did give up and order out, there would still be more dishes to do. Papyrus would do them, as he always did. Frisk or Asriel wouldn’t be able to help though—his brother would have to wash and dry by himself.

            Frisk was wrong. About whatever it was they thought, but the fact was, they were _w r o n g._

            _(But what if they weren’t?)_

            Sans closed his eye sockets, turning his head back from the direction of Frisk’s nightstand, and clenched his jaw.  The truth was Frisk hadn’t been there that day or any of those days after he’d made his baby brother a murderer and then failed even to wipe his tears away. No, he’d flinched from him and then only managed to scrape up enough decency to drag his brother home so someone else could try and mend the damage. Frisk hadn’t seen Papyrus, sobbing and lost, even as he clutched at the old man’s arms and buried his head in the crook of the old man’s neck.

            Frisk hadn’t been there during any of those little moments that Papyrus had tried to reach for him—after nightmares, after other attacks, after passing each other in the halls and Papyrus saw the despair still there—only for the shame to swallow him whole and force him to turn his head and keep going. He’d always been in motion back then, like it could help chase the shame and fear away. He’d pulled farther and farther away from Papyrus, shame silencing his voice until the two stopped talking all together and the old man had to be the one to send messages between them. When the Accident happened and his life had all but ended, Papyrus had stepped in once again to drag him away from danger again, even if the danger had mostly been from himself. ~~~~

Frisk could think whatever they liked, but there was no place to stand beside Papyrus as a brother once more. He’d thoroughly ruined that place himself, through shame and silence and self-pity. At best, his brother tolerated him, wanted him alive maybe only because he didn’t want to lose what little family he had left.

            There was no going back to what once was.

            And yet.

_(What if. What if there was? What if Sans just walked down there and elbowed in besides his brother and helped cook whatever the hell it was he was trying to make? What would his brother do then? Yell at him to get out of his way? Or would he be glad there was someone about that he could delegate certain tasks to, to send running around collecting ingredients or stir pots.)_

_(What if.)_

            Sans grunted and pressed both of the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. After a moment, a chuckle escaped him. “Fuck, I really am married.” _My inner hopes are starting to sound like Frisk._

            He let his arms drop down to his sides and looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t need to talk to Frisk—he knew exactly what they were going to tell him. That Papyrus didn’t resent him half as much as he thought he did. That Papyrus didn’t hate him at all, that in truth he was just waiting, waiting for a signal, for a return.

            That was what Frisk wanted to say. Frisk was also wrong, he knew, but that’s what they thought. They were wrong because Papyrus wasn’t waiting for a goddamn thing. He took or achieved what he wanted with his own hands because despite what a fuck up Sans might be, his brother sure wasn’t. Papyrus had his dreams, had admiration and friends, might have even had something going on with a certain robot if only that robot could find enough time to visit more often. Papyrus’s life was going just fine. He certainly didn’t need Sans trying to force his way into it and just ruin everything. Again.

            _(But what if.)_

            He paused, glancing again to the empty spot on the nightstand. Frisk had said something once, in a rare moment late at night when sleep eluded both of them, about their own past. They wouldn’t go into detail, but they hissed an admission into the still shadows of the night. An anger, a deep, permanent frustration that sometimes made their bones ache. The memory of a father who abandoned them only to leave mysteries for them after his death. The frustration of never knowing just what it was he thought of them, of never getting the chance to really confront him. Nothing but silence between them.

            He hadn’t understood right then how any decent creature could abandon someone like Frisk, could look at the miracle they were—his miracle, his spouse—and not want to at least know them. And yet, now, maybe he could finally give Frisk an answer.

            Shame. Maybe that’s why Frisk’s fucked up excuse of a father didn’t have the gall to try to reach out to them before he died.

            He was sure of one thing—the loss of the chance to tell him go fuck himself burned still in Frisk’s core. They would never get closure from him about it.

            So. Maybe that’s what Papyrus was waiting for. Maybe that was what he wanted—the chance for Sans to apologize just so Papyrus could tell him where to shove it. Closure to slam the door shut on Sans’ face, as he should have done so many times before. Closure that Sans never tried to offer before because he was too much of a cowardly fuck to try. He owed Papyrus for so many things, for saving his life so many times, again and again, and sure he’d muttered gratitude and tried to stay out of his way, but he’d never given Papyrus the satisfaction and validation of him at least owning up to what a piece of shit he was.

            Closure, validation. Maybe that was what Papyrus needed.

            Sans was a fuck up, a coward, a piece of shit, but even he could do that. He had nothing to offer but his own heart just so his brother could finally have the satisfaction of smashing it to a pulp. There’d be justice in that at least.

            That he could do.

            There was a knock at the doorframe, startling Sans. When he looked up, Frisk smiled wryly at him. “Supper’s done. Hope you don’t mind slightly burnt mac and cheese.”

            He was so surprised that he chuckled before he sat up. “Mac and cheese? Paps moving up in the world.” He stood and walked forward, but then he realized Frisk was still blocking the doorway. When he moved to lift his head to look at them, their arms came forward and wrapped loosely around his neck; they pressed a soft kiss against his cheekbone before tucking their head against his. “Something up, babe?”

            “I’m sorry we didn’t get to have that talk yet. I had to help Asriel do a paper about some ancient battle and we just barely finished settling on his sources and writing his thesis statement. Do you mind having it after dinner?”

            For a moment, he idly pondered the idea of telling them he’d already had it with his own imaginary version of them. He then promptly chuckled—and from the look he received, he nearly laughed again at the confusion on their face. So, he patted their arm and rested his own head against theirs. “Don’t worry about it.”

            Frisk frowned, lips pursed, but before they could speak, Asriel called up the stairs to them. They both glanced over Frisk’s shoulder towards the stairs where Papyrus’s voice carried, asking the prince to not shout in the house. (And isn’t that the pinnacle of hypocrisy right there? Well, Papyrus was allowed it, if so.)

            He smiled, not exactly mirthful, and pulled far enough back to signal them to loosen their hold. “Those two are waiting on us.”

            Frisk frowned again, but didn’t try to keep him in place. Instead, they let go and then walk so closely by his side that their hand kept bumping his. In a moment of—fondness? weakness?—he reached out and snagged their hand in his own. Their hand twitched hard, startled, but then quickly squeezed his hand back. So, they walked hand in hand down the stairs although they weren’t wide enough to walk down side by side. Once they reached the kitchen, he let their hand go although they both let their hands slide against each other’s before reluctantly falling away.

 

 

 

 

            Dinner was… tolerable. Which was actually quite an achievement for Papyrus, considering he did it all on his own. His brother sat there and accepted praise for his work and acknowledgement for his improved cooking skills. But then Frisk turned and focused in on Asriel, who promptly slumped down into his seat. “You go get back in there and get to work on that paper.”

            He whined, a tiny, pathetic noise that Sans remembered Papyrus making when he was just a baby bones because he wanted Sans to read him a bedtime story. “But Ronin Rodents comes on in ten minutes.”

            “Yeah, well, you can set up a recording and watch it tomorrow. You still have to do a rough draft and then a final draft. In fact, if there’s anything else you want to watch, set up recordings for those too. When you’re done, you’re going to take a bath and then go straight to bed.” They pointed a finger at him. “No video games, no guitar. Not tonight.”

            “What if I don’t get done before bedtime?”

            “Then you can stay up for a bit, and if you still have work, then you can get up early tomorrow. But you are not missing class. So hop to it.”

            To his credit, he didn’t try and press his luck farther, just slunk out of his chair and headed towards the living room. “Will you help with my bibliography at least?”

            “I’ll be there in a second.” Once he’s gone, Frisk leaned their head back and sighed. “Toriel’s going to murder me if she finds out I didn’t even know he had homework. He still has math to do too.”

            “I should have kept track,” Papyrus admitted, stiff as he gathered up dishes. He didn’t offer excuses, just bristled at his own frustration.

            Frisk shook their head and stood. “Well, that’s not actually part of your job to remember. It’s mine, really, so, if you don’t mind me, I need to go make sure it gets done. Sorry I can’t help with the dishes just yet. I’ll be back in a bit, I’ll try and help some then, okay?”

            Papyrus turned and walked towards the sink, not really caring what they said.

            If Frisk was upset by his abruptness, it rolled off them before Sans could see any annoyance. Instead, they turned and walked out, calling for Asriel as soon as they stepped into the living room.

            He glanced after them for a long moment before he finally looked at his brother; Papyrus pulled on his own rubber gloves and started filling up the sink with suds and water. The extra pair were sitting next to the drying rack. Looking at him, Sans considered his options.

            Before supper, his soul had been full of fire and determination. Now he could feel the quiet not-quite-ease that has settled in as Asriel fretted, Frisk resigned themselves to keeping an eye on their ward, and Papyrus grumbled; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to test his luck tonight. He still believed that he owed Papyrus a chance at closure, to tell him off, but he didn’t want to ruin an already tense night.

            But was that really true? Better to ruin an already bad night than ruin a perfectly fine one some other time, right? Maybe the truth was that he was just a coward who didn’t want to destroy what little he still had with his brother just yet. Because he knew it was going to be wrecked—there was no way his brother was actually going to look him in the eye and just forgive him. That’s not how the world worked; justice might have been a rare, elusive creature, but surely he couldn’t escape it.

            He closed his eyes and took a breath. No, no he definitely didn’t deserve to keep skating by on his brother’s good graces as he always had. He owed his brother. He had to do it.

            Pushing back his chair, he paused, glancing down at his sweater’s sleeve, considering just how exactly he wanted to do this. Thinking it over, he pulled his sweater over his head before dropped it on the chair before rearranging the t-shirt he’d been wearing underneath it.

            He took another breath, to settle his nerves, and then walked over to the sink. His brother just finished dropping a couple plates into the drying rack when he picked up the gloves’ package, opened it, and pulled them on. He finished wiping a plate down before his brother finally turned to him.

            “Sans, are you… actually trying to be helpful?” he asked, voice full of confusion. Or was that suspicion?

            Sans paused, dishtowel in one hand and another plate in the other. “I could leave if you want.” He frowned; he meant it like an option, but it soundly vaguly like a petulant threat out loud.

            Papyrus just scoffed and went back to scrubbing, muttering something like ‘wonders never cease’.

            Sans waited for his brother to snap, to demand he explain himself, but Papyrus just kept scrubbing, so Sans went back to drying. He tried to just focus on drying whatever was dropped into the rack, but eventually he caught up to his brother as Papyrus labored on digging something burnt and stuck at the bottom of a pot out. He waited, watching his brother work, before he finally glanced up into his brother’s face—it was screwed up in childish grit, his eyes narrowed before shining with triumph as he liberated one stubborn glob of food up before moving on to another one.

            The nice thing about being able to talk through your own teeth is that you don’t have to open your mouth to speak; looking at his brother, Sans tried to find the words several times. He failed, but it wasn't like anyone else would have known that. In the end, he just accepted the pot silently as his brother handed it over.

            He kept trying the entire time they worked on the dishes. At last, he gave in and just tried to focus on the dishes while his thoughts chased themselves viciously, like hungry dogs baying for meat and bone. _I fucked up again. Fucked up then, fucked up now—why did I think it’d be any different? I’m a goddamn fuck up, that’s all there is to it. Papyrus doesn’t want to hear my shit, doesn’t need me begging at his boots for pity. He must be so sick of my_

            “Sans,” Papyrus began, startling him so much he nearly dropped the pot in his hands. “I have a question for you.”

            “Uh, yeah?”

            “Do you still remember the procedures for,” he paused, frowning for a moment before attacking a stubborn clump of burnt food with the bristle pad. “The procedures that had to happen for my birth?”

            Sans blinked. He’d only been five at the time; he hadn’t been allowed to help in the initial processes, but he remembered that night, looking at the magic swirling around bone that would eventually change and shift, resolve itself into a tiny skeleton that only looked vaguely like a skeleton after about a week. He’d pressed his hands against the glass incubation tube, gazing at his new brother, and counted the days down on a little calendar he kept near the tube for just that purpose. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Yeah, I remember.”

            “Do you still remember everything that had to happen? I never… I never thought to ask about it.”

            Sans blinked. He might not have been there, but, oh, yes, did he remember. He remembered the way the old man would hold his hands, fingertip touching fingertip with one hand, but only meeting a solid, fused metacarpus with the other, until after the procedure. Then there was another hole in that hand and he could watch the old man pinch his fingertips together in that hole as well. “I think I still have the papers explaining how it works.”

            Papyrus’s head shot up, but he only let his eyes snap to the side to look at Sans sidelong. “You still have them?”

            “They were-” The old man’s life’s work, or at least one of them; after the Accident, Sans had jealously guarded them. Before Papyrus dragged him out of his hidey-hole that he’d crawled into, those papers, that data, that _duty_ were the only things keeping him alive. After all, they held the salvation of their race, perhaps even monsterkind, if the population couldn’t bounce back fast enough. Not that seemed to be much of problem now—monsterkind was going through a hell of a baby boom now that the Edict and barrier were gone. The old man had entrusted that data to him—well, him and Papyrus, but after the Accident Sans never found the right time to tell his brother. Just another one of his fuck ups. “They're backed up on his secret servers, the ones you helped me take to Snowdin.”

            “ _That’s_ why those computers were so important?” Papyrus asked, every line of his body reading surprise. He frowned. “Why didn’t you _say_ that? I nearly chucked them out with all that trash you put in the basement.”

            He started to lock the basement up for a reason; the moves to New Home and then to surface meant he’d tossed out a lot of stuff, but he’d been adamant about those servers. “Well, it’s all on there. I just never had a good reason to do anything with it. Not like we knew where the other skeletons were.”

            “Or are,” Papyrus grumbled because he was still sore about that. They’d met exactly one other skeleton since the Barrier came down and he’d been nearly as old and capricious as Gerson. He’d kept his secrets and left them only the promise that the others would get in touch with them eventually—right now, they were seeking the sun. Sans only wished them luck and happy travels.

            Sans fell quiet, waiting until at last he looked up at his brother. “Do you want me to give you the papers?”

            Papyrus paused and then shoved the pot in the rinse water, regardless of if it was actually clean or not. “I wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

            That made him frown. “I could explain it to you.”

            The offer was met with silence.

            He grimaced. “Er. If you wanted me to. There’s a lot of jargon, but he made me study it anyway.”

            Papyrus frowned at him. “Why did he make _you_ study it?” _And why not me too?_ was left unsaid, but not unheard.

            “He made all of the other scientists study it. Wanted us to have as broad as an education as possible, only let us specialize once we showed a good grasp on the basics of everything else.” He was kind of a dick that way. The facility went through many interns, but he did weed out the unworthy fast that way.

            Papyrus considered it for a moment before returning to the pot. “I would like to study the papers myself then.”

            Sans paused, wondering if he’d go on, but when he didn’t he reluctantly went back to drying. Either Papyrus was going to try and puzzle out the jargon himself or he’d order him to explain them, but he would get him a copy of the data anyway. After all, it’d been his legacy as well. Still, did this mean what he thought it did? “ _Are_ you planning to become a dad?”

            The plastic cup in Papyrus’s hand cracked—admittedly, there’d been a hairline crack there already, but Asriel had been fond of it and it hadn’t started to leak yet. Papyrus cursed and tossed the cup into the trash. As he flipped the lid of the trash back down, he paused. “I wasn’t _planning_ anything.” He turned and stomped back to finish the dishes, picking up another cup with considerably more care that time. “And certainly not anything soon.” He looked down at the cup in his hands with a frown. “Undyne told me she and Alphys are planning to try for a baby soon.”

            Now it was Sans’ turn to nearly drop something; he had to use his magic to catch it before it smacked into the ground. Once he levitated it back up into his hands, he took a careful breath. Alphys sure hadn’t told him anything like that, but that was just normal for monsters—you didn’t go around telling others that you were planning to get pregnant. Too dangerous, letting everyone know that you would be slowing yourself down with a pregnancy and then young children. Better to just keep it a secret for as long as possible. Not to mention, it was just asking for bad luck. Sans thought about it before delicately clearing his throat. “Well, those two can look after themselves. I wonder if Al will hire more interns to help with her research when she-”

            “Undyne is planning to bear the baby.”

            It was a good thing his hands were empty; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to catch another dish in time even with his magic. “But her health—has it gotten good enough for that?”

            Papyrus sighed. “She’s dead set on it. They’re planning for next year. She’s even going to go on medical leave for it.”

            Fuck. Alphys was probably pacing her lab right now, trying to think of some way to talk her wife out of her new hare brained scheme. Sans silently wished her luck. “Well… hopefully it’ll be an easy pregnancy.”

            “It’s _stupid_ ,” Papyrus hissed, startling him. “If she gets herself dusted, what will Alphys do? What about the guard? What about-?” He cut himself off with a grimace. He dropped his sponge and put the last dish in the rinse water, letting it set for a second as he reached into the other sink and pulled out the plug, letting the sudsy water swirl down the drain. “She’s going to get herself hurt, one way or another.”

            He wished Frisk was in here—they seemed to know just what to say, and if they didn’t, they still knew how to calm the person down enough to let them find their balance again. He couldn’t do that—all he ever did was ruin and upset things. Still, Frisk wasn’t there. He took a breath and reached into the rinse water to get the last dish. “Well. It is Undyne. She’s pulled off wilder hat tricks before.”

            Papyrus snorted and turned away, striping off his gloves. “She’s stubborn as a human,” he grunted and stalked towards the doorway of the kitchen. Once there, he looked back over his shoulder at Sans. “I’d still like to see those papers sometime.”

            He nodded. “I’ll have them for you tomorrow, boss.” Maybe he’d dig out the technical glossaries for him, if he still had them somewhere.

            His brother paused for one long, silent moment before clearing his throat. “Sans. You don’t have to keep calling me that. Just. Call me what you used to.”

            Sans blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

            Papyrus stood there, like he was waiting for something, but then he turned before Sans could ask him what it was. Out in the living room, Frisk said something to him—they talked for a moment and then Papyrus vanished up the stairs.

            Glancing back, Sans looked at the rest of the dishes. He was tempted to leave them to air dry, but he found himself finishing them all off anyway. When he levitated the last casserole dish up into the cupboard, a pair of arms wound round his shoulders. He took a moment to enjoy the heat pressing against his back.

            “You know, when I left you the gloves, I hadn’t meant that you _literally_ needed to help with the dishes,” Frisk murmured into his shoulder.

            “Yeah, I figured out the metaphor just fine.”

            “Well, thank you for helping anyway,” they chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of his skull. “How’d it all go?”

            Sans idly rubbed the tip of his thumb against the edge of the counter. “We didn’t fight, at least.”

            “That’s good.”

            He huffed softly. “Also didn’t talk about anything you probably wanted us to either. No big breakthroughs. Sorry, babe.”

            Frisk sighed and moved their arms so they could pull him into a tighter hug. “Sans, my darling dear, that wasn’t what I was expecting in the first place. Just keep… reaching back to him. That’s all you need to do.”

            Sans nearly laughed, nearly told them that Papyrus wasn’t reaching for him, but then he remembered Papyrus’s tight look as he talked about Undyne’s stubborn wish. Maybe that _had_ been Papyrus reaching for something—comfort? Reassurance? Maybe just a sympathetic ear, someone who could keep a secret? He didn’t know. He owed Papyrus a hell of a lot more than that.

            Maybe that was a start. And maybe he hadn’t fucked that one up at least.

            He shook his head. “Life would be simpler if it came with a handbook for this shit.”

            “Oh, god, if it did, I’d could use one myself,” Frisk groaned, leaning back. “So, what did you two talk about?”

            Sans thought about telling them about Undyne, but that really did seem like tempting fate. “About some old science shit from when were kids. Secrets.”

            “Ooo, secrets? Good ones or bad ones?”

            Sans shifted, grinning more to himself than them. “Wait and see secrets.”

            “Oh, so I’ll find out later?”

            “Probably.”

            “Ah, well, in that case, I eagerly await the news, whatever it is. Will I have to wait long?”

            “Most likely,” he teased, turning to face them.

            “Damn.” They snapped their fingers in mock frustration. “The anticipation is going to kill me. You know what this means, don’t you?” They purred, reaching out for him.

            He smirked, leaning in as they stepped closer. “What’s that?”

            “You’re going to have to distract me now.”

            He chuckled, pressing his forehead against theirs as they leaned in. “I’ll do my best.” He wrapped an arm around their waist and offered them the corner of his mouth so they could press a kiss. Once they did, he reached up with his free hand to idly run it over their bottom lip. “He told me I don’t have to call him boss anymore.”

            Frisk’s eyes were suddenly dazzling as they lit up. “ _That_ is good news.” With a grip, they pressed another kiss to his face, nuzzling their face against his for a moment. “You did good, husband mine.”

            He shivered—that name, those words, never seemed to lose their effect on him. Still, he tucked his head against their neck and tried not to sigh. “Still didn’t make it right.”

            “Rome wasn’t built in a day, my love. Keep trying. Stay determined.”

            He chuckled in spite of himself. “I’m not human. That doesn’t work for me.”

            They grunted and nuzzled against his head more aggressively, not that it did much as they were the only one with the tender fleshy bits to irritate. “You know what I mean.”

            He smiled, snickering and decided to change the subject by asking them how Asriel’s homework was going. While they sighed and explained that it was going faster now, he thought to himself. Staying determined? Him? All he’d ever been good for was screwing up. And running from his problems. Whenever he tried to do something important, it usually blew up in his face. But this was Papyrus. And if there was anyone in the world besides Frisk, then he owed it to Papyrus to try.

            Stay determined. And maybe, maybe, he could finally do something right by him. There was no other path for him now.

            “UGH,” Papyrus groaned, coming back into the kitchen. “Are you two playing kissy face again? Go to your own room!” Out in the living room, they all heard Asriel make a noise of disgust as well.

            Frisk laughed and stepped back. “Forget something, dear?”

            “My gloves,” he huffed, pointing to the discarded gloves still lying besides the sink.

            Sans watched as Frisk turned and reached for them, but before he could stop himself, he let his magic coat the gloves and levitate them to him. Frisk watched him curiously, but he was silent as he walked towards the door, gloves in hand. He offered them to his brother who frowned for a moment before taking them.

            “Thank you,” he said, gruffly, like he was expecting something else—a trick maybe?

            Sans only averted his eyes and kept walking. Behind him, he heard Frisk come closer to the door and murmur something to Papyrus. Papyrus said something back and there was the soft, wet sound of Frisk kissing his cheek. Amused, he turned and started climbing the stairs, but he didn’t get far before he heard someone start to climb the stairs behind him.

            “Frisk? Where are you going?” Asriel called.

            Frisk, who was just behind him on the stairs, waved him off. “Didn’t you hear? Papyrus thinks I should go play kissy face with Sans in our room.”

            Papyrus scoffed. “That is _not_ what I said.”

            “Close enough!” Frisk giggled and began to gently shove Sans upward. “Quick, before they try to stop us.”

            He laughed and let them hustle him up the stairs. Once he was to the top, however, he paused and glanced back down. His brother had dropped down onto the cough next to Asriel and seemed to be listening to him try to explain some problem he was having with his homework. For a moment, he saw through time once more, back to two small skeletons, skulls pressed together as they did homework of their own.

            “Sans?” Frisk called softly, shaking him from his memories.

            “Hey, babe,” he began, turning to them. “Do you mind if I take a rain check on the kissy face?”

            Frisk chuckled, tucking their arm into the crook of his. “Of course, my dear.”

            “Good. Can I get your help with something else instead?”

            They raised their eyebrows. “If I can. What do you need?”

            “I need you to help me hook up some old computer servers. I got to dig them out first.”

            “I’m not _great_ at computers, but I’ll do my best. What do you need them for?” they asked, voice curious as the two of them walked towards their room again.

            Sans looked forward, jaw set. “Just helping Papyrus with something he asked about.”

            There was a pause and then Frisk pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “Whatever you need, my dear.”

            He smiled back. “Alright then. Let’s get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested "an angsty moment with Frisk mending Sans relationship with Papyrus since Sans doesn't really understand that Papyrus cares for him like Frisk sees". This isn't *quite* that because try as I might, Sans just stubbornly refused to see that Papyrus doesn't hate him and also I couldn't get it to feel right that Frisk be the one to mend his and Papyrus's relationship. Instead, I got Sans as far as realizing that he owes it to Pap to be more emotionally open and then gave him the shove to start down on the path to reconciliation. I think, in reality, it would take them years--and probably some actual therapy--to really mend, but if they're both determined to reconcile, then they absolutely will, in time. This was just the start of that journey.


	18. Wedding Bells Are A-Ringing

            Married. They were married. Married a whole year. And no one told them.

            Right.

            _Well, now I’m going to be widowed,_ Frisk thought as they pounded up the stairs, using their hands at times to grab the step before them and yank themselves up faster. _Married. For a whole year! And he wasn’t even the one to tell me the truth._

Admittedly, they couldn’t say that it wasn’t a little funny. Actually, it was pretty hilarious. Papyrus had joined in Undyne and Alphys’ howls of laughter down in the kitchen. At least they sounded like they were having fun.

            Still, Papyrus was going to be _sans_ a brother once they found him. They rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and dashed towards their door. To their surprise, Sans was actually still in there. After he’d teleported from the kitchen, they’d thought he’d just teleport away again and then they wouldn’t see him until some ungodly hour of the morning.

            Instead, he was just standing, the lights of his eyes tiny as he turned to them. Perhaps he’d just been too stunned to think of where to escape. Seeing them, though, seemed to galvanize him; as they rushed forward, his form flickered.

            Before he completely vanished, though, they grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, their momentum sending them crashing into him.

            They landed with a thud to their knees, pinning him down between their legs. The drop winded them for a moment, but they caught themselves quickly. “Oh no, you fucking don’t. You are not avoiding this now. Now, you are going to sit there and explain to me why—we are at Grillby’s!” They ended with a shout as they straightened.

            Luckily, being that it was only five in the afternoon, Grillby’s bar was still mostly empty. Only one sleepy customer seemed to be there and they had their face pressed against a booth in the back. Grillby himself leaned over the bar’s counter and arched a fiery brow at the two of them.

            “Hi!” Frisk snapped, managing to sound supremely annoyed and bright at the same time. “Fuck! Grillby, mind getting me a bourbon and this asshole’s tab so I can square that away at least?”

            This was why Grillby was surprisingly easygoing with them—while he looked oddly unlike his counterpart from their world, his flames being an entirely different color, his temperament ran cautious and stern rather than outright murderous. The fact that they were always quick to pay their bill and Sans’ tab seemed to have endeared them to him some. Also considering the fact that unlike most of his other patrons, Frisk never tried to start a fight and instead tried to actively talk down any agitated customer had gone a long way to earning the elemental’s leniency.

            Shooting Sans an annoyed look, they climbed off of him, then curled their fingers into his sweater, and dragged him up to join them in being upright. Not bothering to uncurl their fist, they pulled him towards the bar. They climbed up on a stool and waited while he climbed up onto one next to them.

            Sans awkwardly cleared his throat. “You, uh, can let go now, babe.”

            “If I do,” they retorted, “are you going to try and ditch me again?” From the way he wouldn’t look at them, they had their answer. Their hand remained clenched in the folds of his sweater.

            Grillby appeared with a glass and a bottle; he showed them the bottle and they nodded. It’d be expensive, but it would get them shitfaced in no time, and that was something Frisk appreciated at the moment. Once he poured them a glass, they tilted their head back and tossed the drink down their gullet in no time, not even wincing at the burn it left in their throat. Looking at them, he seemed to understand something and just slid the bottle to them.

            With a grateful nod, they saluted him with the bottle and poured themselves double the amount he’d first given them and downed that one as well. That time they shuddered. This time with a greater respect, Frisk poured out a smaller amount in the glass again and then slid it towards Sans.

            “Oh, good. God knows I didn’t want to have this conversation sober,” he admitted casually. When Frisk shot him a look, he didn’t seem to be sarcastic. He took the glass and tossed it back as well. Once he did, he shivered and sighed appreciatively. He put the glass back down but didn’t slide it back; without a word, Frisk refilled it for him. After he drank that one, he sighed and reached up to tug at their hand. “Okay, but really. You can let go.”

            Frisk eyed him carefully, but released him. When he slid the glass back their way, they refilled the glass and drank again, this time sipping the liquid and savoring the bite of the spices in the blend.

            Looking at the two, Grillby held up another glass for the two of them, but Frisk shook their head—having one glass between the two of them would force them to slow down.

            After the fourth glass, when Frisk began to feel comfortably warm and some of the tension had slid off of Sans’ shoulders, Frisk cleared their throat. “Okay, that’s enough of that.”

            Sans froze, his shoulder tensing back up. “Can’t it, uh, wait until later? When we’re not in public?”

            Frisk shot him a look. “Are you trying to use my own tactics against me?” One of the hardest lessons Frisk had to keep repeating to Asriel were that he shouldn’t fight or contradict his parents in public; while Frisk couldn’t deny that he usually had a good reason for it, Frisk had been firm about the lesson, lest they show a divided front to the human world. Frisk themselves tried never to contradict them in public—or Papyrus, for that matter, but that was mostly because they knew he wouldn’t appreciate looking like a fool in front of others—unless it was an emergency of a dire sort.

            Sans only blinked at them. “Uh, only a little bit?”

            They closed their eyes so he couldn’t see them rolling them. “Well, I’d hate to inconvenience Grillby by making a scene, but you know, if I’d had it my way, we’d have stayed in the house and talked there.”

            Next to them, Sans began to sweat, especially once he spotted Grillby looking at him curiously. Quickly, he poured himself some more to drink. “I’m just saying…”

            “Oh, saying what exactly?” In a fit of annoyance and tipsy, foolish pettiness, they turned to the bartender. “Grillby, did you know Sans and I are married?”

            While Sans choked on his drink, the elemental paused and gave a polite nod.

            “You did. That’s wonderful.” They leaned in, voice dry. “You know who didn’t know?” When he gave them a blank stare, they pointed at themselves. “Me.”

            Grillby froze before his head cocked to the side, as if he was hoping the change in perspective would make everything make sense.

            “Yep. You see, I had absolutely no idea that monsters got married by moving in with each other. Well, about a year ago, I didn’t have a home. So, Sans offered to let me live with him. He did _not_ mention the little tidbit about it meaning I was marrying him.”

            After a very long moment of Grillby staring, his flames softly crackling, he turned towards Sans. Leaning across the counter, he stared directly at the skeleton. “You fucked up.”

            Sans glared, his permanent grin very small as he reached out, filled the glass up high, and then tossed it back. He swallowed, paused, and then quietly muttered as he picked the bottle back up. “I wasn’t trying to trick you.”

            Frisk rolled their eyes but caught the hand holding the bottle before he could refill the glass. “Okay, hold on. For one, you keep that pace up, and you’re going to be on the ground before the happy hour crowd even gets in here. Grillby, can we get some water too?” They watched as he nodded and then vanished into the back. Once he was gone, they sighed, rubbing their forehead and trying not to hiss in irritation. “Secondly, I don’t think you tricked me into marrying you, but I don’t like being made the butt of a joke for months on end.”

            “You are not a joke,” he sighed back, and took a smaller gulp from the glass. “I just… fuck, I don’t want to have this conversation sober.”

            “Tough shit,” they replied; once he sat the glass down, half filled still, they snatched it up and took a sip from it. Instead of putting it back down, they held onto it so they could nurse it for a while, mostly just to keep him from gulping it down constantly. “I would have never guessed we’d be having this conversation at all, and yet, here we are. So, when _were_ you going to tell me we’re married?”

            Sans winced as Grillby returned, two tall bottles of water in hand. They were both confused as to why he’d handed them bottles of water instead of just two glasses of tap water, but then Sans narrowed his eye sockets. “These are for the road, aren’t they?”

            Grillby nodded.

            Frisk sighed. “Don’t want an argument disturbing the regular crowd coming in soon, huh?”

            He nodded again. Honestly, if anyone asked him, he would have to admit that he liked these two for regular customers—they were good at interpreting what he wanted without having to waste his time chattering about it. He reached to the side, grabbed a well-protected tablet and then handed it to Frisk.

            They winced at the screen—it was his records for Sans’ tab and at the bottom was an ugly number to show how much he was owed. Frisk fished their wallet out and handed him their credit card. Once he was finished charging them, they saluted him with their bottle of water. “Thanks for the water, Grillby. Always a pleasure.”

            To both of their surprise, instead of grabbing the bottle of bourbon to put it back on the shelf, Grillby reached out and slid the bottle towards them. “Congratulations on your marriage,” he murmured, voice unbearably smug as he walked away.

            The two of them stared at the bottle before Sans reached out and snatched the bottle up. “It’s not even full,” he grumbled, eyeing the fluid level.

            Frisk groaned. “Forget that and let’s get back home before we get so blitzed out of our minds that we can’t see straight to get up the stairs.” They watched as he grabbed his own bottle of water and tucked it into his coat pocket as best he could; he picked up the bottle of bourbon with one hand and offered them his free one. They frowned down thoughtfully at his hand but took it without complaint.

            For a moment, the world blurred, red magic shifting around them, until they blinked and they found themselves back in their room. They paused, just to make sure their feet hadn’t accidentally gotten spliced with any of the litter or dirty clothes on the floor—not that Sans had managed to splice them yet, but they’d see him do it to himself once and that was more than enough for them—but for once their floor was clear, mostly. Papyrus had threatened to make them clean it the night before, so they’d picked up some before they’d gone downstairs to do the dishes.

            Next to them, Sans opened the bourbon back up, took a swig—not a large one, to their relief—and then flopped backward onto the bed. He nearly missed it and slipped off, but he caught himself and quickly shuffled himself up more securely.

            With a snort, they took a step back and then let themselves drop onto the bed besides him. He offered them the bottle with a tap at the arm; they took it and took a draft of their own, smacking their lips once they were done. Rather than hand it back to him, they sat it on the floor between both of their feet. “Don’t forget to drink your water, Sans. Okay. So, again. _When_ we’re you going to tell me that we’re married?”

            He reached up and rubbed at his face with his hands. “We’re not actually married.”

            In spite of themselves, they huffed a laugh. “Well, no shit. That’s probably not a legally eligible marriage on either side, right?” Definitely not on the human side—humans were taking the presence of monsters cautiously. The small number of monsters both helped and hurt monster kind, but for humans, no one was particularly spooked about an invasion—not yet anyway. Still, humans were only so welcoming; marriage would definitely be beyond what they were willing to deal with. It was a good thing this hadn’t reached the human tabloids yet. There would be a field day if it did, which it probably would, eventually. They’d have to prepare some sort of plan for that.

            “I can’t say I know if there’s a law against or for it,” he admitted. “But probably not.”

            Frisk sighed. “Well, anyway, legal or not, people have thought we were married for months. So. When were you going to warn me about this?”

            He groaned, pressing his hands harder into his face. “Babe, I didn’t actually plan this like some absurdly long running joke. I wasn’t thinking about that when I said you could come live with us. I just… I wanted to be able to keep an eye on you.”

            Frisk paused, staring down at him, chin propped up by one hand. “You know, if there was ever a time you’re allowed to be mushy, now’s the time. You could use the brownie points.”

            He froze and then folded his arms before his face, hiding himself from view. “…I wanted you to stay. With me. Because you were my only friend. And, yes, I know. You’re not my only friend. But you felt like it at the time.”

            They chuckled, glancing away. “Well. As long as you know that now, at least.”

            The two of them fell quiet for a long moment until Sans finally spoke again, his voice muffled by his arms still. “So, how much do you hate me right now?”

            The corners of Frisk’s mouth twitched. They turned and glanced down at him, allowing themselves a soft smile at the fact he was still hiding his face. With a soft sigh, they leaned back onto the bed and curled up beside him before reaching out to tug away one of his arms. Once he reluctantly let them take it, they waited until he hesitantly opened one eye socket to glance at them. With careful deliberateness, they pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t hate you.” They allowed him a moment to suck in a breath, the air rattling around in him like painful relief, and then gently rapped a knuckle against his forehead. “I’m still not happy with you though. Stop avoiding my question.”

            He leaned away from their hand, and instead reached up to snag it, not letting go afterward. “What was the question exactly?”

            “When were you going to tell me about the fact that monster kind thinks we’re shacked up?”

            “Not to derail the conversation, but we actually are shacked up.”

            “Not the point and answer the question.”

            He grimaced, pressing a hand against his forehead as he looked up towards the ceiling. “Um, honestly?”

            They resisted the urge to glare at him. “Might as well.”

            “Never?”

            They pinched the bridge of their nose. “Sans, what the hell.”

            “Well, it’s not like it counted for anything anyway!” he retorted. “It’s not legal or even binding, so it just doesn't matter in the long run. And, um.” He paused, scratching at his cheekbone. “I actually didn’t realize it until about two months afterward.”

            Now they had to stare. “What?”

            “Well—well, I really wasn’t trying to propose to you in the first place, so I didn’t think about it like that. It wasn’t until the tabloids really started going to town with the rumors did it click what they were getting at. Until then, I just, um, didn’t think about it.”

            Reluctantly, they had to admit that at least they were glad he hadn’t planned this from beginning, like some ridiculous joke. Still. “Sans. Darling. Light of my life. Apple of my eye, sugar cube, honey bunch, sweet pie, pearl of my heart.”

            Sans went very still—the more endearments they added, the angrier their tone got, and the more threatening they became. It was an odd habit of theirs, but it also let him know just how annoyed they were. And continued to get, seeing as they weren’t done yet.

            “Cupcake, my stars and skies, my sunshine, my dear, my beloved. Husband mother fucking mine, did you just say you knew for ten months and just never told me? And that you were planning to never tell me at that?”

            “… yes.”

            They pulled their hand from his, pressed the both of them against their face, and muffled a scream with them. _“Sans.”_

            “I was hoping the papers would eventually drop it and then we could all forget about it. I didn’t think it’d go on this long.” He paused. “So how much do you hate me now?”

            “Sans, fucking christ, stop that,” they snapped, dropping their hands. “Ugh, I just—I don’t hate you. But you are frustrating the shit out of me.”

            “I’d assume that was just everyone’s natural response to me.”

            “Well, not from me, but you are fucking pushing it today,” they huffed, rolling over so they could glare up at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ. I’m married. I actually got married. I didn’t think that’d ever happen, but hell if it didn’t.”

            He was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke, it sounded like he was pulling teeth. “We can, uh, get _unmarried_ if you want.”

            They shot him a glance. “Don’t you mean divorced? Or annulled, rather. I’m pretty sure this qualifies for grounds for an annulment at least.”

            “Nah, we just did it the informal way, so we can undo it the informal way too.”

            They frowned, considering. “How do you get unmarried?”

            He grimaced. “One of us has to move out.”

            They grunted, turning their head back up to the ceiling. “Most likely me, since if you move out it’ll just look like I married Papyrus. And I don’t want to move out, so fuck it. Nope, Sans, now you’re stuck with me. Here’s to many years of wedded bliss, baby.”

            The two of them lay quietly on the bed for a whole minute before he spoke again. “Frisk?”

            “Yeah?”

            “I… I’m really sorry about this. I, um. I really fucked up.”

            _Well, shit,_ they thought in exasperation as they could feel their anger draining out of them. It was probably a little pathetic how instantly relieved and pacified they were whenever they got an actual apology—working in politics, they hardly ever got any, but also being constantly misgendered rarely got them apologies there either. _I’m too easy, goddamnit._ “Yeah. Yeah, you did. But. But thanks for saying it.”

            Next to them, he let out another sharp breath of relief. “Is, um. Is there some way to make it up to you?”

            They paused, the words “you don’t need to make it up to me” on their tongue, but they refused to say them. Perhaps “making it up” wasn’t it something they needed or wanted, but maybe it’d make him feel better. They could worry over it later. “Let me think about it.” They blinked and had to bite back a chuckle. “You know, you owe me a honeymoon too.”

            “… I have no idea what you’re supposed to do for honeymoons.”

            They snorted. Figured. “We’ll worry about that later too, I guess.”

            “Gotcha. So, uh. ‘Husband mine’, huh? What am I supposed to call you?

            “Whatever you want,” they sighed.

            “…how about bridezilla?”

            They turned their head to shoot him an unamused look. “Don’t push your luck, smart ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long again, guys. I'm trying to catch up though, but if this next chapter's late as well, then I'm afraid it's just how it is. It might just be a short chapter, so I can catch my breath, but we will worry about that later.
> 
> Several people, including Yuki_Walker on AO3 and Crisstal-chan on ff.net, wanted a follow up to chapter 16, Wedded Bliss, where Frisk discovered they were married. Despite the beginning, Frisk is more embarrassed and annoyed than really, truly angry, which is why they calmed down so fast.


	19. First Aid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set before The World, Upside Down, back when Frisk was 13 or so, long before they and Sans had their falling out. Keep that in mind as you read.

            This was bad. They hadn’t been in this much physical pain since before the Barrier broke, back before they managed to save Asriel from himself. They couldn’t even bear to sit up properly, instead curling up against a bathroom’s wall at their school, clutching the side of their ribs, and trying desperately not to cry. In their lap, their phone looked up at them, patient and damning.

            Maybe they _should_ call someone. This hurt far too much to just be a bruise rib; they were going to need a doctor. That was the absolute last thing they wanted to do.

            They’d only started binding their chest flat four months ago. Before then, the sight of their chest, the slide of newly growing flesh across their skin filled them with disgust and dread. Part of them had been curious to what having breasts would be like—would it feel nice? Would they be heavy and cumbersome or would they stay small and flat forever? While they no means had a large bust, the one they had now was more than they wanted already. Binding had been an immediate help; they’d gotten the idea off of watching a movie where a female character bound her chest flat so she could sneak into a fight and the idea had just clicked then.

            There was long, wide bandages in the medicine cabinet; as soon as the movie was over, they snuck into the bathroom and pilfered the cabinet before running to their room. Wrapping their ribs carefully, like Undyne had shown them to wrap a hand for a fight or a wound, they bound themselves as flat as they could manage and then pulled their shirt back on. The minute the shirt was on, they turned to the mirror in their bedroom and smiled at it for the first time in ages. Lately, the sight of their chest in the mirror gave them a pang of dread, but today the flat silhouette let them take an easy—though shallow—breath for once.

            Immediately, they were happier and others noticed; Asgore was all kind smiles, Papyrus and Undyne eagerly laughing with them as they joined them in fitness training, although they quickly had to get some pocket money together to go buy some more bandage rolls after Toriel bemusedly wondered where the original roll had gotten. Despite the few hiccups—literally hiccups, but also shortness of breath and tightness in their chest—they’d been exceptionally happy with how binding was working out for them.

            And then, yesterday, right in the middle of gym class, they fell. To be fair, they’d been doing something dumb in the first place, them and Monster Kid balancing on a handrail of the handicap ramp behind the gym. The two had been laughing over something and then Frisk went to take a step. Their foot slipped and they pitched to the side before they even realized what had happened. They were resigning themselves to a painful fall when a loud band and then a crunch stunned them. When they’d fallen, they fell across the ramp, landing on the lower handrail, their ribs catching it dead on. For a moment, they felt nothing, so shocked that their brain just failed to comprehend what had happened.

            And then they tried to breathe. Instantly, agony shook them down to their core and they found themselves lying on their back, staring up at Kid as he looked down at them, panicking. Somehow—they don’t even know how, but somehow—they got themselves up. Brushing off Kid’s concern wasn’t terribly hard—he was as eager to believe their protests and forget the whole thing as they were. They forced themselves to laugh and joke about their own clumsiness and then sent him off to go get them an ice pack.

            Once he was out of sight, they nearly fell to the ground, tucking themselves into the corner of wall as they hesitatingly prodded their ribs. They nearly passed out and they had to spit a few times to get the taste of bile out of their mouth.

            “Oh, god, I broke it,” they mumbled before dissolving into a mishmash of Spanish curses and English prayers, begging to be wrong. Eventually, Kid returned and they forced themselves to play along. The ice pack soothed them for awhile, until the class was over.

            Gym class was the last of the day, so they eagerly got onto the bus. Thankfully, they didn’t live too far from school, but at one point they hit a pothole and Frisk’s world went white for a moment. They blinked after a moment, coming back to themselves to find their face smacking against the window. Kid looked at them, his face stricken, so they hurried to reassure him that they were fine.

            As soon as they were off the bus, they hurried into the house, not even caring if the bus driver saw them wincing—they doubted it though. The driver wasn’t exactly observant. Still, they only had a very short window to get out another ice pack, fill it with ice, and then go lay down with it. They pressed it to their side until the pack felt squishy and wet. Reluctantly, they sat it aside and finally unwound their bandages.

            Their side looked awful; bruised and swollen, like someone had beaten them with a lead pipe. They cried a little in panic and then nearly swallowed their tongue when they heard Papyrus burst into the house, calling for them. They were due for training in ten minutes, he reminded them.

            Frisk nearly threw up again at the thought. Slowly, they put themselves together, even pausing to wash their face before they went down to meet him and make excuses for why they couldn’t join them.

            They bullshitted him and got him on his way, but when they turned around, they found Sans watching them from the couch. “You look rough today, kiddo. Something bugging you?” he asked, voice causal as he reached for the remote.

            “Stomach bug,” they lied, their tone just as light.

            “Well, that’s a shame. Want to come kick your feet up for awhile and watch a movie with me?”

            “Actually, I think I’ll just go lie down for a bit.” They hurried for the stairs, wincing at the thought of climbing them.

            “Look after yourself, bud. Hope you feel better.”

            “Me too,” they answered honestly and started on the long climb. Once they made it, they hurried to their room and yanked out their phone to look up signs of a broken rib.

            What they found was hardly helpful—it wasn’t that they couldn’t find anything, but that they found way too much, most of it contradictory. One person on this forum here said to try twisting around to see if the pain increased or not, this person there seemed to think even slight aches were dangerous. One person swore up and down that you should never wrap up broken ribs, while another insisted that it was the only way to be safe.

            Frisk eventually just dropped their phone next to them on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. They tried to come up with some sort of plan, but time ticked by and then they broke into a cold sweat as their mother came home. Shortly, Toriel arrived to check on them. They repeated their lie about the stomach bug and patiently let her check their temperature.

            “Well, you don’t have a fever,” she murmured, pulling her hand back. “You feel cold and clammy instead.”

            “Stomach bug,” they insisted. “Really, mom, I probably just ate something I shouldn’t have. I’ll be okay, I just—I want to go back to sleep now.”

            Her face softened as she stroked their cheek. “Of course, my child. You just rest. I’ll come up in a bit with some supper and we’ll see if you can eat something then, okay?”

            “Thanks, mom.”

            She patted their head and pressed a fuzzy kiss to their temple before she left the room again. Once she did, Frisk reached up and smacked themselves before reaching over to root in their nightstand drawer. “Duh, monster food. I really scrambled my brains.”

            The healing power of the food took the edge off the pain, making it easier to breathe, but not vanish. They’d waited too long to try and heal, so their body resisted the magic. Still, they thought that maybe if they ate more, that maybe it’d help them mend faster.

            They ate their supper as eagerly as their queasy stomach would allow and then went back to bed. They fell asleep, tired from the healing magic, waking up just for a few groggy moments when Toriel came in to check on them before she herself went to sleep.

            In the morning, Frisk woke up hopeful and tried to sit up.

            This was a mistake. The agony in their ribs had gone down, but only slightly. Choking on a sob, they lay back down and began to tremble.

            “Fuck,” they mumbled. “Fuck!” So much for the magic fixing them overnight—they must have broken it, otherwise it would have mended it more. And now it’d gone too long unhealed—their body would have to mend on its own, the old fashioned way.

            Unless, of course, if they were overreacting. Maybe it hadn’t been too long yet—they’d felt better after supper, hadn’t they? Maybe they could just wrap up their ribs, eat breakfast that was heavy on the monster food, and then sneak some snacks in during and between their classes. That way Toriel wouldn’t be curious about them missing school, they wouldn’t have to explain they hurt themselves like an idiot, and no one would be the wiser.

            Oddly, wrapping their ribs made them feel better for a bit. Taking it as a good sign, they finished getting dressed and carefully picked their way down stairs to get their breakfast. If Toriel was a little perturbed by them sticking to monster food—while good for healing, monster food didn’t carry enough nutrients to make it a viable foodstuff for humans; monsters still made a killing in the first aid and diet food sales, as while it didn’t have nutrients, it also didn’t have any sugar, fat, or salt in them either—she didn’t remark on it. When her back was turned, Frisk snuck what they could into their inventory in their phone.

            Toriel drove them to school and Frisk was grateful that they wouldn’t have to worry about her taking the potholes too fast. They hid a wince when they leaned over to kiss her cheek goodbye and then tried not to flinch the entire way as they walked into the school.

            Trouble started before class even began. They quickly chowed down on the monster cookies they’d gotten, but they only raised their health a pitiful amount. Grimacing, they resigned themselves to just bearing with it, but by the end of the hour their health had dropped back down.

            This was the start of a cycle—they’d eat some restorative snacks, their health would go up a tiny bit, but by the end of the hour, it’d be down again. By the time lunch rolled around, they were running low on snacks and they were starting to get nauseous again. When class let out for lunch, the thought eating more food just made their stomach roll—monster food might have been empty calories, but their stomach still thought it was food. To add to that, their chest was hurting again. They thought about rewrapping the bandages tighter, but they weren’t sure if that was a good idea either.

            Which left them where they were now, stuck in one of the school’s bathrooms, trying not to cry or throw up from. Finally, they sighed and gave in. Leaving the restroom, instead of going to the cafeteria, they hurried back through the halls until they found their mother’s office. Peeking in, they breathed a sigh of relief to see she was still in the middle of getting ready for her next class. They tried to take a steadying breath but only found themselves in the middle of a coughing fit that left them winded. Leaning against the wall, they tried to catch their breath, but then nearly jumped as Toriel’s office door swung open.

            “Hello? Is everyone al—my child!” she gasped, as she turned and saw them. Instantly, concern washed over her face and she hurried to their side. “Oh, Frisk, what happened? Is it that stomach bug again? You look so pale, and that cough…”

            Frisk managed a wan smile and let her check their forehead. “Mom, I really don’t feel good. Everything aches.”

            Toriel’s brow knit as she pulled her hand away. “You don’t have fever, but you’re clammy again. Have you had lunch yet?”

            “I don’t think I could keep it down,” they moaned.

            “I have class in ten minutes and there’s no one I can get to sub on that short of a notice.” She grimaced, petting their hair. “Maybe I could talk to Cindy—see if she’ll sit in on my class while I take you to a doctor.”

            Frisk’s heart nearly climbed into their throat. “N-no, Mom, it’s not… It’s probably just the flu. Could I call-” they flailed mentally for a moment, but then a name came to them. “Could I call Sans, maybe, and he could take me home?”

            Toriel frowned. “Well… I think he’s in the middle of his shift today.”

            “It’s Wednesday, isn’t it? He should have lots of time right now.” The strange collection of Sans’ odd jobs still eluded them, but they knew Wednesday night was when he went down to a few local bars and did stand up for an hour. That and they knew Friday was the hot dog vendor day, but the rest of the week, his jobs were mysteries. Still, knowing him, he was probably only now just waking up.

            “It is Wednesday,” she agreed, reluctantly. “Come into my office and sit while I call him. We’ll see if he has time.”

            Luckily enough, not only did Sans answer the phone on the third ring, he even agreed to roll out of bed early to come swing by and give them a lift home. After another call to the main office, letting them know Frisk had her permission to go home and that they would have a ride home soon as well. She pressed a kiss to Frisk’s brow before she hurried to her class, already late, leaving Frisk to wince their way down to the office, not even trying to pretend that they weren’t in pain now.

            Sans arrived promptly. They’d hoped he would have just teleported there and then taken another shortcut home, but he drove up on his moped, ringing the silly bike bell he’d taken off his old tricycle. At least it _was_ the moped he was using; when they were little, he’d gotten a hell of a kick out of tooling around on a tricycle until the police finally had enough of his antics and started giving him tickets out the wazoo for it. (Usually because he failed to signal on his turns, which wasn’t weird because, you know, it was only a tricycle. For awhile after that, he’d ridden a unicycle in protest until he got more tickets for it.)

            “Hey, bucko,” he greeted them, handing them a helmet as they minced out to him. “You look like shit.”

            “I feel it,” they groaned as they climbed on behind him—there wasn’t much room, but they made do as he took off.

            “So,” he called back to them, not driving fast enough that he would need to shout, “you sick, skipping, or did you hurt yourself?”

            They opened their mouth to lie, paused, and then thought it over. After a moment, they tried again. “Sans, if I tell you something, will you promise not to tattle to mom on me?”

            He stopped at a four way and looked over his shoulder to consider them with narrowed eye sockets. “That honestly depends on how much trouble I’m going to get in with Toriel if I keep it.”

            Frisk grimaced and tried not to wince as their side throbbed. “Never mind,” they grumbled, too soft to be heard.

            For a while, Sans left it at that. He drove them back home and stopped the moped just shy of the back door to the garage.

            They took a moment to pull a face at another twinge of pain as his head was still turned around as they climbed back off the bike. Face composed, or at least as close as they could manage, they took off their helmet and handed it back to him. “Thanks for the ride, Sans. I’m, ah… I’m going to go lay down now.” They started to turn and raised their hand in a wave, but stopped short as he reached up and caught them by their wrist.

            “Hold on. Look, if there’s something actually wrong with you and I didn’t try to find out, then Toriel’s going to be pretty pissed at me either way. So, why don’t you tell me what’s eating you, kid.”

            “You going to tell mom on me?” they asked, wary.

            He shot them a flat look. “I won’t know until you tell me now, won’t I?”

            Frisk considered refusing him, but admitted to themselves that he would probably just go rat them out to their mother at this point anyway. Reluctantly, they turned back to him; they started to reach for their side but then self-consciously grabbed their arm and rubbed it. “Um… I don’t suppose… um.”

            He waited, patient.

            They gave in and sighed. “I think I broke a rib.”

            For a moment, he just blinked sedately at them, like a housecat. Then he cut the engine, kicked up the kickstand, and hopped the moped, carelessly tossing his helmet over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go inside and take a look at this.”

            They managed a tiny smile. “Thanks, Sans.”

            “Don’t thank me yet,” he shot back as they walked inside. “I haven’t even helped you yet.”

            Once inside, Frisk thought about heading towards the bathroom with its brighter lights, but the walk sounded agonizing, so they just let themselves half collapse onto the couch. Carefully, they yanked their shirt up. “Here—what?”

            He was eying their chest with a grimace. “You put compression bandages on it?”

            “I—yeah? Aren’t they supposed to help?”

            “Help you get pneumonia maybe,” he retorted, reaching over to inspect them, undoing the metal clasps pinning them in place. “What did you do and how many did you hurt?”

            “I fell,” they admitted, reaching to unwind the bandage themselves—they weren’t wearing a bra or anything today, since they had the bandages on. They’d rather undo the bandages themselves. “And I think just the one.”

            He let his hands drop so they could work on the bandages. “You fell? Really, Frisk, that’s what you’re going with? And why did you wrap up your whole chest if you only hurt one rib?”

            “I did fall,” they argued before frowning. “I just, um. Well, I fell onto a metal bar.”

            He glanced up at their face. “Fell on it how and from where?”

            They screwed up their face as they got down to the last layer. “I was balancing on the handrails above the wheelchair ramp behind the gym, okay? I slipped and fell onto the handrail down below it.”

            He sucked in a breath through his teeth, hissing at their explanation and the ugly mess of bruised swelling on their chest. “Ah, hell, kid, you _sure_ it was only one rib?”

            “Um. I dunno?” They fell quiet as he gently prodded at the bruising, trying not to whimper as he poked at them. “I-is it bad?”

            “Well, it’s sure something alright,” he announced as he sat back from his spot on the coffee table across from them. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Probably broke at least one of them. When did you do this?”

            They eagerly pulled their shirt back down. “Yesterday.”

            “And you’ve been walking around with bandages on it all day since then?”

            “I took them off last night.”

            He sighed, tapping his fingertips against his knee. “There’s that at least.” He was quiet for a moment more, still tapping his fingers and still mulling it over. “Did you try eating monster food already, or did you wait too long?”

            “I… think I waited too long. I, um, tried to eat some as snacks between classes today, but my health just kept going back down after an hour.”

            He nodded. “Definitely broken.” At last, he nodded. “Okay, well, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to take you to a hospital, get them to give you some medicine that’ll stick around for more than an hour. When they asked what happened, you tell them the story. If they ask about what you did to help it, you tell them about the food and that you put bandages on it. And we won’t tell them that you were binding before then, so we won’t have to tell your mom that part. Deal?”

            They sat, horrified. “What, no, I can’t—mom’s going to kill—I’m not binding!”

            “One, yes, you can. Two, she’ll definitely kill _both_ of us if I let you run around with half healed ribs. And thirdly,” he went on, shooting them an amused look, “you are not as subtle as you think, bucko.”

            They paled. “How… how long have you known?”

            He shrugged, leaning back. “Eh, about four months.”

            “You knew the whole time?” they yelped.

            He had the audacity to laugh at them. “Frisk, you’re good at hiding when you’re insulted or mad, not so much when you’re happy.”

            “I’ll work on it,” they grumbled, hunching down until they winced again.

            “Yeah, well, I’d work on the fact that you’re going to have to make peace with the fact you’re not going to be able to bind for a while because there’s no way in hell they’re going to let you do that until that rib’s healed.”

            “What! Sans, no, please-” they gasped, grabbing his arms. “Please, you don’t understand—it wasn’t—I was trying to be careful and-”

            He pulled one arm away to flick them in the center of their forehead.  “If you were actually careful, you’d have gotten yourself a real binder to wear, not some Ace bandages you probably found in the medicine cabinet.”

            They froze. God, did he always have to be right? It just wasn’t fair.

            He patted their head like he’d done when they were still little. “Ease up, Frisk, it’s only for a few weeks or so. You can look into getting a proper binder then.” He stood up. “Now, come on, the faster we do this, the sooner it’ll stop hurting.”

            They stayed where they were, trying not to pout. “How am I going to explain to mom about getting a binder?”

            He raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously saying you won’t tell her sooner or later?”

            They looked away. “She’ll just give me that talk about ‘accepting myself and all my flaws as being positives if I just try looking at them in another light’ or some shit.”

            He snorted. “Hah! Geez, since when were you such a pessimist?”

            They fell quiet, hugging their arms to their chest, and staring down at the floor. Why had they told him? Now, he was going to tell Toriel—of course, he was, why hadn’t they thought of that before, they were practically dating, mostly—and that’d be the end of it, mom was going to know and they’d never hear the end of it. They wouldn’t be able to bind either. They’d go back to how they were feeling months, like they had when they were a child in foster care, when their foster parents never called the right pronouns. Their stomach rolled, nauseous from nerves as well. Why couldn’t they have just kept their mouth shut?

            “Frisk. Kid, look at me.”

            They froze, but eventually found the nerve to look at him. When they did, they found his smile patient and kind.

            “Hey. You know, Toriel loves the hell out of you and if you let her know how much it really bothers you, she wouldn’t stand in your way like that. If it’s a gender thing, you know us monsters, we don’t have as many hang ups as a human might.” He shrugged. “But, if you’re really that worried, just tell her that it’s training clothes, or something. If it’s the buying it thing, then I’ll help you find a place to get it made and we just won’t tell her. Or you could order it online and have sent to Paps and my house.”

            They became faintly aware they were clutching their arms, their grasp trembling; they forced themselves to ease up. When they moved their fingers away, the skin they’d been grabbing was pale. They took a breath—shallow, but steadying all the same. “You mean it?”

            “If it means that much to you and that you’ll go get your ribs taken care of, yeah, I do.” He rapped his knuckles off their forehead. “You’ll have to tell her one day, but that can wait until you’re good and ready.”

            Their chest felt tight, but for the first time in a day, it wasn’t from pain or the bandages. Before they could stop themselves, they sniffled. Sans’ look of alarm would have been amusing if they weren’t trying to hold back a sob. Quickly, they focused on settling their emotions. When they had a grip on them, they managed a smile. “Thanks, Sans. You’re the best.”

            “Eh, I think we both know that Papyrus is at least twice as good as me, but I’ll take that as the compliment you meant it to be.”

            Frisk giggled—they probably had been overly sentimental for him. They focused instead on trying to smile as they climbed back up off the couch. “Okay. I’m ready. Let’s go find this doctor.”

 

 

 

            They had definitely broken a rib, but by the time they got x-rayed, the new bone was halfway towards mended. The problem was, they bone was bent inward at one point, creating a dimple on their side. Probably because the bone had healed so fast while Frisk had been binding it with the bandages. While slightly worrying, it posed no real health threat and the doctors weren’t especially willing to cut them open just to break it again and let them heal the old-fashioned way.

            Toriel was the one who cast the decided vote on that. She arrived shortly after school ended when Sans sent her a text cheerily informing her he took Frisk to the hospital without explaining why. While not happy—no, not in the slightest, with either of them—she managed to keep her civility until after they all got home from the hospital.

            After a firm talking to, she all but ordered Sans to go home before marching off to go make something for Frisk to eat so that they could take the medication the doctors prescribed.

            “Well, that could have gone worse,” Sans chuckled as the two of them watched Toriel disappear into the kitchen.

            Frisk grimaced. “Sorry you got in trouble with mom too, Sans.”

            “Aw, I’m a big boy and she’s not the first person to call me a bonehead.” He winked at them. “Still, I better get out of here before she comes back and finds another bone to pick with me. See you later, kid.”

            Before he vanished down one of his shortcuts, Frisk reached up and grabbed his sleeve. Once he looked at them, they sent him their most grateful smile. “Thanks for everything today, Sans. For helping me, taking me to the doctors, talking to mom and the doctors—and for the binder thing,” they added in a much softer tone. “Just. You really don’t know how… how much it really…”

            He cut them off, chuckling and patting their head, not that they felt their usual twinge of annoyance for his condescension. “Aw, don’t go getting sappy on me, kiddo. We’re buddies, right? I’m not going to just leave you hanging. Well,” he added, grinning as he tugged on a lock of their hair. “At least I won’t if doesn’t interfere with my naptime.”

            Amused, they knocked his hand away. Before they could thank him again, he vanished, leaving them shaking their head at the spot he’d disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that Frisk really *was* doing Toriel a disservice--she would have allowed them to bind, but Frisk has a lot of emotional baggage as their gender identity wasn't respected as a child, so it made them wary of authority figures' views on it.
> 
> Besides that, I always meant to one day show that before Sans and Frisk fell out, they actually had a very sibling like relationship. You can see where Frisk picked up some of their cues for dealing with Asriel and Chara from him, not that they really realize that yet. I'll let you decide how much of his attitude comes from genuine affection or fear of Frisk one day resetting the timeline from unhappiness.


	20. Who cares if one more light goes out in the sky of a million stars?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we delve into Fell!Frisk's story, and their own "unhappy reason" of coming to Mt Ebott.
> 
> WARNING: this chapter contains scenes of sexual harassment of a minor--nothing comes from it, but it's meant to be creepy just the same. Also, mentions of suicide.

            Somewhere in the building, someone—a child probably—screamed. Probably the six year old two flights up, fighting with his sister again. Then again, it could be the old lady on the other side of this floor; her pitiful cries were high and birdlike, easily mistaken for a child as well. Frisk didn’t know, but it made them wince all the same. They always felt a pang when someone cried out from the other rooms of the building.

            The cries that came from inside their own apartment left them feeling a little more mixed. Their father was never there, but they remembered that the last time he had been. They could remember the tight face he’d made when he found out that their mother had sold some of his medals off at the pawnshop down the street. They offered to go down with him, to buy them back, but he’d only shook his head. If he left them there, she would have just sold them again, to get more of whatever new addiction she was chasing this time. The medals were gone the next day when they walked past the shop and so was their father. That’d been nearly a year ago and they had just accepted that when his tour of duty ended that he would not be returning. It should have burned something inside them, to know that he probably wouldn’t at least come for them, but then he’d been gone so often when they were small, they hardly knew him when he was home.

            Their mother, on the other hand, didn’t just pull tight faces when she was home—she was a cacophony of sounds. She’d stumble home, sometimes in the middle of the day after weeks of being gone, knocking stuff down and then yelling at the objects for having the audacity to try and trip her. She would moan and grunt as she staggered to bed, snore as she slept. If Frisk was lucky, she might wake quietly and then if they were very lucky, she would just laze around for a bit, maybe even have a civil conversation before leaving again. It’d been a long time since that happened. Mostly Frisk was unlucky. Sometimes their mother screamed and shouted, but Frisk wasn’t sure that it was any better when she came home and just sobbed, as if her world was at an end.

            Frisk wished they knew what their mother was so unhappy about. If they knew, maybe they could have done something to help her. Maybe their mother would get clean and sober, maybe she’d kick her newest boyfriend—Devon? Or was it James? Frisk stopped keeping track a while ago. Maybe their mother would get a job and at least Frisk would know where the money was coming in from then. Maybe their father would come home. Maybe pigs would fly.

            There was no point to maybes.

            Upstairs—it had to be coming from upstairs, it was louder, shriller now—the children started to squabble until at last a woman’s voice cut in, and the children fell silent. In a few minutes, Frisk would probably hear them screaming again, but it would be from glee and laughter. Frisk wished they knew what the woman did to comfort them so fast; it seemed like magic.

            They only had a brief moment to enjoy the silence; on the other side of the bedroom wall, a tv turned on to a sports match of some sort. The guy next door must have been half deaf. Frisk wished he’d move his tv to the other side of the room. With a sigh, they turned the volume up on their stereo. The stereo was ancient by all standards, but at least they could plug their music player into it to hear music again and then a pair of headphones to keep quiet. Even if their mother wasn’t home today, at least they wouldn’t have to worry about her storming in, complaining about the “racket” they were making.

            A warm voice crooned gently in their ears—the song was even more ancient than the stereo, but the rich, velvet soft timber sounded more real than any other noise in the entire world. Once the music started, they stopped being in a tiny little apartment in the bad side of the city. It felt like the years, decades, and centuries had turned back and they were now in a dim, crowded music hall, joining the rest of the audience as they hung unto every note. Maybe they could be in New York, Chicago, or Miami, far from Ebott. Even Los Angeles would be better than Ebott.

            When they listened to the music, they went to a place where none of their little troubles could find them. They wouldn’t get knocked down by Joey Schmidt as he ran to fourth period—and even if he did, he wouldn’t just call out an apology as he raced on. Erica, at the locker next to theirs, wouldn’t just blink down and ask if they were alright, would offer them a hand up.

            In that fantasy world that the music took them, they’d never have to reluctantly give up the solo for Regionals because they heard Lea and Amber talking in the bathroom, complaining that Mister Zaring didn’t even bother to hold auditions this year. They wouldn’t have to realize that the other girls were right and then go and do the decent thing by letting the others get a chance. No one would begrudge them a selfish moment in the gentle world that the music took them.

            In that world, they wouldn’t have to silently take it when someone misgendered them—they’d be brave enough to speak up for themselves. They probably wouldn’t be called the wrong thing the first place. They wouldn’t have to sit there, patiently ticking off the days until graduation. Those four years couldn’t end soon enough, in their opinion.

            They’re being morbid again. (Or maybe they weren’t? They had no one to ask to know if they were or not.) To distract themselves, they pressed their headphones tighter to their head and imagined the great escape they had planned. After they would graduate, they’d get out of Ebott and head some place better. They’d settle for LA if nothing—they’d get on a bus and go to the glitzy streets of Hollywood. They would stand on street corners and sing for their supper—it wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to do that, but admittedly they’d been younger and people had thought them cute then. They would save up some money and then go somewhere else again—or maybe a talent agent would find them there, singing, and offer them a big break. But if they could leave, they’d go to New York and try to break into Broadway. Then, when they sang for their supper, it wouldn’t be to people with pitying eyes.

            It would be better there. They just had to wait it out. And until then, they at least had the music to escape to.

            The track ended and in the lull between songs, Frisk heard something crash around in the living room. They quickly paused their music and snatched up the baseball bat they used when they joined little league years ago. Quietly, they tiptoed to their bedroom door and peeked out.

            Listing heavily against the wall, their mother struggled with the straps of her shoe. Biting back a sigh, Frisk considered the bat before reluctantly putting it down—it looked like their mother was alone, no boyfriend old or new to worry about this time. They stepped out of their room and walked over. “Would you like some help?”

            Their mother nearly fell, banging her side off the wall with a hiss. “Fuck! Oh, it’s… you.” She sighed and then jerked her head over. “Make yourself useful, won’t you, kiddo?”

            Surely thirteen was far too old for their mother to be calling them kiddo anymore, wasn’t it? Still, the thought of arguing with her turned their stomach, so they walked over and undid the straps for her, giving her an arm to balance against as she stepped out of them.

            “That’s better,” she sighed. “Ugh, do we have anything to eat? I’m starving. Be a dear and go make me something.”

            _I am not your servant,_ they longed to remind her. At least she wasn’t screaming or cussing yet. Instead, they cleared their throat delicately. “We’re out of food. I need to go buy groceries.”

            Their mother shot them a flat look as she walked towards her room, already pulling off bits of clothing as she went. “Why didn’t you do that already?”

            “I didn’t have money to.”

            Their mother groaned and sloppily tossed her purse at them; they had to stretch to catch it. “Get money out of there. Buy the groceries tomorrow. Right now, go get me something hot and fast. I don’t want to wait forever.”

            Well, that was surprisingly civil. Frisk quickly rooted around in the tiny, gaudy purse, frowning at the wad of bills in it. Where _did_ she always get this much money anyway? They weren’t counterfeit as far as they knew, but what was she doing to earn it all? Still, those weren’t anything they dared to ask. They started to peel off some bills before they paused. “Um, rent’s due next week,” they called into the messy bedroom where their mother flopped down onto the mattress on the floor. Why couldn’t she afford a proper bed when she had so much money? “Should I take some out now or-?”

            Their mother waved them off. “Just get what you need and then go get me my damn food. I’m starving here.”

            Silently backing out of the room, Frisk took some bills, paused, and then took a few more—maybe they would get some extra groceries tomorrow, make it stretch longer this time. They stashed the money in their latest hiding spot—in a hidden hole at the top of their closet’s wall, tucked from sight—only leaving themselves two dollars. They knew _exactly_ what wanted; two dollars would more than enough to cover it.

            After checking to see if their mother was awake or not, they slipped their sandals on and then hurried out the door. They rushed down the stairwell since the elevator was broken again. Frisk kept their eyes forward and their pace fast until they got out of the building and down the street.

            Frisk finally smiled as they spotted the taco truck at last. Quickly, they slipped into the line, ignoring the menus like the gawking tourists—they must have wandered into this part of town, lost, and gotten hungry. Frisk wondered how long it would take them to be mugged or pickpocketed—they said a quick prayer that they’d be left alone all the same.

            There was already a few people in line, but a moment or two after they stepped into the line immediately behind an adoring couple, someone else immediately stepped up as well. Frisk was glad, only for a moment, at the thought that at least they’d gotten there in time. Then they felt a hot puff of air disturb the back of their hair and they went rigid. A moment later, they felt it again, this time drifting over the shell of their right ear in a way that made them want to flinch. Ahead of them, a customer finished their order and stepped to the side, to wait. Quickly, as soon as the line moved forward, they did as well, nearly jumping forward.

            Unfortunately, the person behind them took an even bigger step forward—they could felt the body heat pressing against their back. “Ey, princess,” a man cooed into their ear, making their spine lock up, “aren’t you pretty as a picture, huh?”

            Frisk felt their stomach drop and then twist into a knot; their jaw clamped shut even as their brain started to scream.

            “Ey, come on, don’t be that way, baby.” He leaned forward, his breath ghosting across the side of their face—his breath reeked of onions and chewing tobacco, perhaps the worst combination they’d smelt in a long time. “You shouldn’t ignore nice men like me.”

            _I’m thirteen, I’m thirteen, I’M THIRTEEN_

            Thankfully, a new voice cut in. “Hey, asshole.” It was the man in front of him; he’d stopped talking to his girlfriend to glare back at the man behind them. “Leave the girl alone.”

            “Why don’t you mind your business, prick? Me and the girl here we’re having a nice chat here, weren’t we, princess?”

            Frisk’s body was so tense that it began to shiver, despite the warm day. They wanted to die—they wanted to melt and ooze into a sewer, they wanted the earth to swallow them whole. Anything but stand there.

            “She’s just a kid, you fucking sicko.”

            Even the tourists were gawking now, murmuring to each other in softly accented English, not sure what was going on before them.

            “Love,” the man’s girlfriend began, touching his arm. “No fighting.” Before anyone else could speak, she turned to Frisk with a kind, knowing gaze—she was a pretty woman. She probably had dealt with her own share of people creeping on her. “Why don’t you go ahead of us, sweetheart. We don’t mind the wait.”

            On one hand, a part of them wanted to meekly protest that they didn’t want to inconvenience the two of them. The other, stronger part demanded they scramble forward; they obeyed, murmuring their gratitude while the two men continued to glare at each other.

            Once that was over, everything else happened with surprising speed. They ordered their food, but when they went to pay, the worker quietly pushed their money away. “Sorry about that guy,” they worker whispered down to them. “It’s a shame you had to put up with him.”

            Frisk smiled weakly and clutched the bills to their chest. They waited until his back was turned and stuck the bills into the tip jar before scurrying down to wait for their food. Thankfully, that wasn’t long, and the moment the bags were handed over, Frisk said a quick thank you and bolted down the street before the guy could change his mind and decide he was more interested in harassing them than getting his food.

            They hurried home in the growing dark, under fickle streetlights that hummed when they bothered to turn on. Climbing up the stairwell, Frisk braced their hands against their knees as they finally got to their floor, their body protesting too much now. Once they caught their breath, they wobbled towards their door, shaking their legs out.

            They tried the knob, but the door refused to turn. Had they locked it on the way out? They groaned at their own foolishness—why hadn’t they thought to grab the key before they left? Raising their hand, they went to bang on the door, but then a noise from inside stopped them. Pausing, they leaned in.

            There it was again—a loud moan. For a moment, Frisk felt a bubble of panic—had their mother somehow hurt herself while they were gone?—but the worry quickly died when their mother moaned again, this time a name. “Carl,” she cooed, obnoxiously loud.

            Frisk took a step back from the door. “Are you kidding me? I wasn’t even gone twenty minutes.” Biting back curses in Spanish and English alike, Frisk turned and kicked the wall behind them, careful to hit it with the thick rubber of the bottom of the sandal and not their toes. Growling in disgust, propped their arms up on the handrail that ran the top of the wall, glancing down at the plastic bag still in their hands. Now what were they supposed to do with that?

            “Frisk?”

            They nearly jumped out of their skin as they whipped around—there, just outside of their landing of the stairs, a tiny woman looked to them. Black skin wizened as an overripe apple, missing a tooth or two, the seventy-year-old woman smiled.

            “Dolores,” Frisk gasped, shuffling away from the wall and then their door again.

            “I thought I heard you pounding up these stairs again, honey,” Dolores chuckled, leaning onto her cane as she stepped out of the stairwell. “Gone to get your supper?”

            “Wha-?” The bag. They held it up. “Oh, this? Uh, yeah. Mom, she wanted me to go get her something to eat, but um.” They glanced towards the door. “I think she has a guest.”

            “Another one of her boyfriends?” Dolores asked drily.

            Frisk nodded. It wasn’t anything the woman didn’t know anyway.

            “And she’s locked you out.” She shook her head but then smiled mischievously. “Well, more for us. Take your bag and come on down to my room, sugar. I can get you something to drink.”

            Frisk perked up and quickly walked over. Once they were near, they hooked their arm into the crook of Dolores’ free one, to help steady the elderly woman on the way back down. “I got a taco with your name on it, Lola.”

 

 

 

 

            Frisk met Dolores when they were just six years old. Back then, their parents hadn’t seemed anything less than doting and adoring, but then Frisk hadn’t known where to look for the cracks that would only widen with time. When they first moved in, Frisk had amused themselves by running up and down the walkways outside the tenants’ doors until someone shouted at them and sent them scurrying to a different level of the building. One day, it’d been Dolores who stepped out—unlike everyone else who had shouted at them, Dolores stopped them with a polite smile and softly asked Frisk to quiet down so she could practice her songs in peace. Frisk had instantly been enchanted with the idea.

            “You sing or play?” they’d asked—they’d been so much bolder back then. Everything was simpler—they may have not been content to have to wear dresses or have their hair in pigtails, but they wouldn’t be able to figure out why for a long time after. There was less to fear then.

            Dolores chuckled. “Well, I sing, honey. I sing in the church choir over on Forty-Third. You know where that is?”

            Frisk blinked. “Is it by the taco truck?” Everything had revolved around the taco truck back then when it came to location.

            Dolores just giggled. “Close. You like music?”

            Frisk raised their chin into the air. “I can sing.”

            “Can you now?”

            “Yep!”

            Dolores looked delighted. “Cartoon songs?”

            “Nope! Movie songs.” Well, _a_ movie song. They considered it a huge accomplishment.

            “Do you truly? Well, would you mind letting me hear it sometime?”

            Without another word of prompting, Frisk broke into the only song they knew. They knew every word and note to ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ because they’d watch Wizard of Oz every day the year before. For some reason, their mother hadn’t hated having it on repeat, which would always puzzle them later in life. Still, they closed their eyes and were instantly transported to a dusty Kansas barnyard, a faithful dog at their feet as they sang of their longing. By the time they were done, they could picture a rainbow coming down from heaven, taking them to some colorful world where they would be adored.

            When they opened their eyes, they found Dolores gazing at them with a steady look of contemplation. “You, I do believe, my dear, have perfect pitch.”

            Frisk blinked. “What does that mean?”

            Dolores chuckled and when she looked at them again, kindness and warmth radiated off her like a gentle sun. “It means you were born to be a singer, sugar. With a voice like that, my, the places you could go.”

            It happened then—a sudden flash of a spark, not yet recognized but lit all the same. Before then, Frisk had only thought that their singing was good as a matter of fact. When Dolores spoke though, it felt like a gift, something rare and special. It was something that could take them “places”—as if it were the rainbow itself, come to lead them to some grand adventure.

            Frisk could only lick their lips, their heart pounding suddenly. “Do… do you think I could sing in your church choir?”

            Dolores laughed. “Honey, with a voice like that, you could sing anywhere you want. Movies, opera, Broadway.”

            They found themselves jumping in place. “The Super Bowl halftime show?” Their father had watched the game last year—the halftime show had been the only part that had interested them. Still, the crowd had gone wild for the performer—they could barely imagine that maybe a crowd like that would one day cheer for them.

            Dolores nearly howled laughing. “If that’s what you want, sweetie! Lord almighty, I hope your parents get you lessons. With a little training, you’d be a bona fide soloist.”

            That had been the start of the first great friendship of their life. They’d come to talk to Dolores every day after that, especially once Dolores met and talked to Frisk’s mother, assuring her that Frisk wasn’t a bother at all. Dolores only had a son who never visited her, but even after a few years, it wasn’t like her grandchildren ever came either. Instead, Frisk popped in whenever they could, chatting and singing—Dolores taught them a little, teaching them how to read notes and how to do warm up exercises. She often babysat Frisk—back then, Frisk’s mother had given her some money for her troubles, but as the years went on, she stopped trying to do even that much. Dolores started looking after them so often, Frisk went to her apartment rather than their own.

            Back then, Dolores had an adorable little dog, a silly faced Boston Terrier named Cassie who was delighted about everything in existence—except sparrows, which were her mortal enemy. Frisk had played with her and helped take her on walks. Cassie had grown old as Frisk grew. The week before, however, Cassie took to her bed and then never got up. She laid down for one last nap and then was gone in an instant. The bed was still there now, even after a week. All the toys were there Frisk noted as they walked in behind their friend.

            Should they offer to remove them for her? Dolores hadn’t said anything about getting a new dog yet, but maybe she’s been thinking about it. Since Cassie’s death, Dolores had been moving a little slower, her voice softer. She hadn’t sung in a week. Frisk had begun to fret.

            But not today, they were happy to note, Dolores smiled almost beatifically as she got Frisk a glass of lemonade while they fetched some plates and silverware. “Let’s go eat by the window. It’s too nice a day to be shut up entirely inside.”

            Outside the window, the sun was sinking fast behind the horizon, but it was blocked out of sight by the buildings. Digging out the food, Frisk handed Dolores a taco and then dug out one for themselves. They’d leave the other two for their mother and her boyfriend—if they were there later. Together they two chatted as they ate, Frisk digging in while Dolores picked at her food. When they were done with their taco, Dolores nudged hers to them. “Go ahead and finish it, sugar..”

            “Stomach bug?” Frisk asked as she reluctantly took the food. “Sure you can’t finish it?”

            “No, no, I’m fine. I ate a little earlier.”

            Frisk waited for more of an explanation, but after a moment, they realized that it was all they were getting. They devoured the taco’s remains, trying not to slurp on their fingers too noticeably as they finished.

            “It was a fine day, today,” Dolores sighed, looking up. “Why, I think I might even see a star or two tonight.”

            Frisk didn’t bother to look up—there were never any stars in this part of town, the streetlights being too bright. “How are you feeling today, Dolores? I thought maybe you were doing better, but if you’re still not hungry…”

            The old woman waved them off. “Nonsense, child. I haven’t felt better since Cassie… well.” She smiled at them. “I’ve been doing some thinking today, is all. Yes, I had me some time to think and I’ve made my peace. Since then, ain’t nothing bothered me yet.”

            Frisk smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

            “I worried you, didn’t I?” she asked, eyes gentle. “Well, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about me now. Old Lola’ll be okay.”

            “I’m glad,” Frisk repeated, but found their smile fading. “I just… I just wished that there was something I could have done for you.”

            “Sweetheart, you’ve done more than you could know for me.” She paused, considering Frisk before she smiled again. “But, if that’s you making an offer, I think I might know something that’d ease my weary soul some.”

            “Whatever you want.”

            “Sing to me, sweetie,” she murmured, already looking back to the sky. “I haven’t the lungs for it anymore. Sing me something older than myself.”

            Frisk thought, their mind drifting back to the music they’d been listening to before their mother came home. _“When I fall in love,”_ they began, voice rising already. _“It will be forever, or I’ll never fall in love.”_

            They went on from there, singing whatever popped into their mind—What a Wonderful World, Fly Me to the Moon, Dream a Little Dream of Me, Le Vie En Rose, and even Over the Rainbow for old time’s sake before they moved on to other genres and newer stuff. They finished one of the church songs she’d taught them years ago before their voice wavered, worn from the use. They sipped their drink, ready to go on, but when they opened their mouth, she held up a hand.

            “That’s enough, sugar. You’ll wear yourself out,” she chuckled. “Can’t have that.” Frisk smiled, but Dolores kept her gaze pointed out into the night. “You have such a wonderful voice, honey. Voice like that, it’ll take you places.”

            “Halftime shows?” Frisk asked, voice light, trying to draw a smile.

            She did smile, but it was a soft, wistful thing. “Take you far from here. From this awful city.”

            Frisk paused. Dolores had never said that before.

            Still, she only nodded, like she was back in church again. “Yes, you’ll get out of here. You’re destined for bigger things than this place. I know.” She glanced at Frisk. “I can feel it in my bones.”

            Nervous, Frisk tried a smile. “Well, wherever it is I go, I’m expecting you to come visit me a lot.” They forced their smile to look brighter, more cheerful. “Maybe I’ll get rich and you can come live with me. We’ll have a dozen servants and we’ll listen to music all day long. Won’t that be great?”

            Dolores chuckled. “It would be something.” She turned her gaze back to the window. “Wherever you go, I’m sure you’ll find your happiness. You accomplish whatever you put your mind to, if you don’t give in or give up. You stay steady and you’ll get through it all.”

            Frisk frowned. “Lola?” she tried.

            It didn’t look like she heard them at first. Then she turned to her purse and began to root around. She pulled out a creased dollar bill and handed it to them. When they reluctantly took it from her fingers, she smiled. “Consider it seed money.”

            Frisk blinked and looked down. Then they nearly gasped when they realized it wasn’t a one dollar—it was a fifty bill. Gaping down at it for a moment, they put it down on the table and shoved it back to her. “Oh, Lola, I couldn’t—I know your welfare checks aren’t big and your son doesn’t-”

            Dolores didn’t even let them take their hand off the money; she grabbed their hand and pushed it and the bill back to them. “Without Cassie here, I don’t need much,” she answered bluntly. “We both know you could put it to better use than I can.”

            Pausing, they looked down at the bill. _I could buy a hundred tacos with that,_ they thought distantly. _I could buy a bus ticket with it._ After a moment, they slid the bill into their pocket, even a guilt pulled at their heart. _I’ll just hold onto it for now, until she needs it. Or maybe I’ll buy her a present. Something nice._

            “Look at that,” Dolores murmured, looking back out the window again. “I think I saw a shooting star.”

            With trembling lips, Frisk tried to smile while they turned to look as well. “Did you make a wish?”

            “No wishing tonight. Not that I’d ever make a wish on one that shot over Mount Ebott.”

            Frisk grimaced, looking in the night sky—Mount Ebott was a dark shadow. It wasn’t a tall mountain, but it loomed large in the history and culture of Ebott. They could remember back in elementary school, learning about it—a man named Ebott had first found the mountain, named it after himself, then went on to found the tiny village. Before then, though, the legends had been a part of the land for a long time. “You don’t really think it’s cursed, do you?” they asked, trying not to scoff.

            “You don’t?” Dolores shot back, tone nearing reproachful.

            _Silliness,_ Frisk thought, but kept that to themselves. “It’s just an old legend. Probably just something the settlers made up to scare the children from going around there, to keep them away from bears or wolves or something.”

            “Hush. That’s an evil mountain, child. Don’t let it fool you.”

            Frisk nearly barked a laugh. “Lola, it’s a mountain. I don’t think it cares what I think.”

            “It’s not the mountain that’ll kill you child, it’s the curse! No one who steps foot on that mountain ever comes back from it. That’s the truth.” She nodded to herself. “Why, I still remember the last child that disappeared up there. It was a little Chinese girl, just the tiniest little thing, not even four years old. Mother took her up there, said she was looking for tubers or something. Herbs. Anyway, she took her eyes off that little girl for just a minute, and,” she wiggled her fingers into the air. “Gone. They didn’t find the body or nothing.”

            Frisk bowed their head in sympathy for the lost child, but at the same time, they frowned. “But that doesn’t mean the mountain is curse. It was just bad luck that a little girl wandered away. She probably just got lost and… well, I don’t want to be morbid, but plenty of things could kill a little three year old.”

            “Cursed,” Dolores insisted.

            “I think it’s lovely,” Frisk countered, thinking back to some of the aerial photos they’d seen in pamphlets and books. “It’ll be so pretty in a few weeks, when the trees start to change color. It’ll look like the whole mountain’s on fire.” They sighed—the mountain truly was a sight to behold then.

            Dolores startled them by nearly wagging her finger directly into their face. “You stay off that mountain, you hear me, child? No good will come from anyone going up that mountain. You got better things to think about.”

            Frisk snorted, pushing the finger away. “Like singing at halftime shows?”

            “Exactly!”

            Giggling, Frisk looked away but froze when they saw a clock behind Dolores’ shoulder. With a frown, they reluctantly returned their gaze to their friend. “I should go. Mom will, uh, probably be waiting for her dinner.”

            Dolores didn’t meet their gaze, just nodded at first. “Yes. Yes, it’s probably best.” She paused, gaze still pointed at the dim stars until at last she smiled at Frisk. “You’re a good child. You… you go look after your mama now.”

            “I will,” Frisk answered, a little puzzled. Their friend was in an odd mood tonight. They stood to leave but then paused and leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek before hugging her.

            “You’re a good child,” Dolores repeated, reaching up to give their arm a squeeze. “Goodnight, sugar baby.”

            “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Frisk replied as they reluctantly pulled themselves away. Giving her friend one last squeeze on her shoulder, Frisk turned and left the apartment.

            Back upstairs, Frisk’s mother actually answered the door when they knocked. “Oh, it’s you,” she giggled as Frisk slid into the apartment.

            “I got you tacos, but the door was locked,” they muttered, holding up the bag.

            Their mother tittered and moved away to go perch on the couch. Ugh, their mother was just gross in her afterglow, even if it was better than her in a fit. “Carl dropped in. He brought me some Thai, so I’m full. You go… go do whatever with that stuff.”

            “Oh,” they said. What else was there to say? Clutching the bag, they shuffled towards their room. “Is, uh, Carl gone already?”

            “Ah, yeah, he left a bit ago. He just needed to use the shower.”

            _Shower, my ass,_ they thought, opening their door.

            “Hey,” their mother called, her voice high and sing songy. “Just so you know, me and the girls will be heading tomorrow. There’s a thing going on over in Nevada, so we’ll be gone for a while. Should be back next week,” she finished brightly.

            Frisk hid their repulsion by not turning around. “Thanks for warning me.”

            “Don’t mention it! Oh, and Carl will be dropping in every now and then—his shower’s on the fritz, so I told him he could use ours. He has a key, so don’t worry if you hear someone opening the door.”

            Frisk froze, terror clawing their throat. Their mother had just—handed one of her boy toys a key to the apartment? And she was going to be gone for a week to what, go party, leaving Frisk alone with the fact that he could get in at any time. _I am going to barricade that door every single night, I don’t care if that’s the only time he can shower. Shit, I should hide everything valuable._ To hide their fright and disgust, they ducked into their room and hurried to get back to their music.

 

 

 

            The next morning, Frisk woke up with a queasy stomach from nightmares of prowlers busting down their door to get at them. They weren’t quite sure how they made it through school, but they were happy to be heading home when the sight outside their apartment building made them stop.

            There were cop cars outside the building; curious onlookers peered up at the building. Confused, Frisk squeezed their way through the passersby and ducked into the stairwell. They took the stairs slower than usual, every now and then they would stick their head out into the landings of the floors to see what was going on, but they quickly grew tired of that and just hurried up to their apartment. Once inside, they dropped their things off, but after peeking around, they dully noted their mother was already gone. They were about to head towards their room when a series of knocks stopped them.

            Pausing, they turned to the door with a frown. Was that their mother’s boyfriend, here for a shower already? They shuddered at the thought but went and looked out the peephole.

            Outside, a pair of men in police uniforms stood. Why were policemen outside their door? Had something happened? It couldn’t have been about their mother, otherwise wouldn’t have they been waiting for Frisk outside their door when they got home? Confused, Frisk opened the doors and blinked out at them. “Can I help you?”

            “Are you… Frisk, was it?” one officer asked his partner. “Frisk…?”

            He was fishing for their last name; they decided to ignore it. “I am. Do you need something?”

            The one officer grimaced. “Miss Frisk, may we come in and talk for a bit?”

            _Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin,_ they thought wildly before adding _Mx, not miss._ They wished they could say that one aloud. “I would prefer not to.”

            Despite the one officer muttering, the more talkative one only nodded. “We received a report today about a possible death here in this building. Several of the tenants downstairs said that last night you spent some time with Mrs Glover. Is that correct?”

            In their core, they felt something freeze over in an instant. “I—I did. D-did something happen to Lola?” Suddenly, they found themselves fumbling with the chain latch of the door. While the officers took a step forward, thinking they were letting the two in, Frisk went to push past them. “Is she okay? Where-?”

            The talkative officer caught their arm. “Miss, I think it’d be best if we all went in and sat down for a bit.”

            Frisk blinked up at him, tried to think, but when that failed, they nodded. Silently, they held the door open and let them in.

 

 

 

            She was dead. The thought squatted in the middle of their still mind, a hideous, rotten toad hoarding all the space, putrefying everything around it. While the officers talked and questioned them, Frisk could only stand witness to the ugly fact in the midst of their world.

            Dolores was dead. Shortly after she’d said goodnight to Frisk, she went to her room and

            And

            She had left two notes behind. One to her son. Frisk had no idea what those contents were. The other was for them. The gist was short and sweet—get out of Ebott. Go somewhere better and fulfill their dreams.

            Dreams. The word made them want to claw out their ear as it rang in them, again and again, like they were trapped in an echo chamber. Damn their dreams; they’d give up their dreams in a heartbeat if they could just rewind time and fix this.

            Frisk wanted to crawl into bed and never get out again. The officers lingered for a long time, even the quiet one seeming worried about them until at last they had to leave, both of them reluctant because there was no one there to comfort Frisk. After they left, Frisk sat in the living room, trying to line up the shattered pieces of their world. But it would never make sense again.

            Dolores was gone. Everyone else was gone as well. Their parents might be alive, but they had long since stopped caring. They had no friends now, no one needing them now.

            Get out of Ebott, Dolores had said. Get out of here and go.

            ( _Run away before it gets you too.)_

 

 

 

            It took a week before the police officially closed the case as a suicide. Frisk drifted through the days, like a dinghy cut adrift from its rigging. The forms of others swam around them, uncaring and unknowing of any of Frisk’s unhappiness. The only signs of any acknowledgement them came when they noticed that their mother’s boyfriend had rooted through the apartment, looking for money no doubt. They’d missed the money Frisk had stashed away.

            One week after Dolores’ death, they got the money down and counted it. They never went grocery shopping—they subsisted on snacks they’d bought from the convenience store down at the corner. Even taking out the money for rent, there was plenty of money.

            They paused from looking over their money to look out the window. Mount Ebott stood like a silent judge, gazing down at the city below. _I can’t believe anyone really thinks it’s cursed. Obviously, it’s the city that’s cursed, not it._

Frisk separated the money for rent and then looked at the rest. More than enough to get a bus ticket to LA, maybe even enough for a night at a cheap motel, or another ticket to someplace even farther. Time finally started to move faster until they found themselves with a bus ticket in hand.

            “This is it, Lola,” they murmured as they sat on the bench of the bus stop. The first bus had already dropped them off and then left with the warning that bad weather might make their next bus late. “I’m doing what you said. I’m getting out of that godforsaken city. And I’m never coming back.”

            The words sounded good said aloud, but they still made them frown. They turned and looked out the back of the bus stop—behind them, the edge of the Mount Ebott Nature Reserve was just steps away. The foot of the mountain was ten minutes at most—the mountain was small enough that they could probably climb to the top and back in under four hours.

            _Maybe the reason they saw no ever comes back is just because no one ever wanted to go back to that place,_ they thought wildly as they stood. Stepping out of the bus stop, they took a chance to breathe in the smell of fall leaves on the wind. The mountain really was a beautiful place.

            They would never see it again. Never have a chance to explore it at all.

            They glanced back at the bench. Behind them, they heard nothing but silence coming from the road—very few people besides truckers and buses ever came out here with everyone being afraid of the mountain. The next bus wouldn’t arrive for hours.

            Frisk glanced back up at the mountain. One last chance to see true beauty like this, untouched and unsullied by the presence of man.

            “There’s no such things as monsters,” they grumbled.

            Just a quick around, that was all. Just one last chance to see the true face of Mt Ebott before they left forever. After all, there was no reason to be afraid.

            There were no such things as monsters or curses. Just a lonely mountain, and Frisk understood loneliness.

            Frisk walked into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the Linkin Park song One More Light, from the chorus:
> 
> "Who cares if one more light goes out  
> In the sky of a million stars?  
> It flickers, flickers.  
> Who cares when someone's time runs out  
> If a moment is all we are?  
> Or quicker, quicker.  
> Who cares if one more light goes out?  
> Well, I do."
> 
> "Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin" comes from the fairytale of The Three Little Pigs and the Big Bad Wolf. I don't know how well that translates for others, so I decided to leave a note here.
> 
> I have an announcement: I'll be taking next week off so I can try and catch up on some new chapters. While I have a few started, the problem is that I have to rewrite some and replot others, so I need a bit more time. I have some other stuff going on in my life--preparing our house so my father can finally come home--but this is the main reason why. Hopefully the next chapter should be up on the 20th.


	21. Let's Try This Again

            Frisk is just closing the laptop Mettaton have given them—they type much faster than writing by hand and the robot was in a generous mood, which is great because having a laptop for these council meetings is a godsend—when Toriel’s voice cuts through the chatter of the others leaving the table. “Ambassador,” she begins, her voice making Frisk’s spine freeze. Behind them, they hear a faint twitch from Sans from where he’d been leaning against the wall, waiting for them to get done with the meeting.

            They force themselves to look up with a perfectly polite and attentive look on their face, hiding their apprehension neatly. It was a look their own mother would be proud of—their mother had been well aware of how politicians could eat a naïve newcomer alive, child or not, and had done her best to prepare them. “Yes, Lady Toriel?” She does not go by ‘your majesty’, but there isn’t a polite way to address her without some form of title—everyone’s seemed to have settled on “lady” for now, even if it pains Asgore to say it.

            “I would like to speak with you for a moment.” Privately goes unsaid, but Frisk knows the tone too well to ignore it. It’s disconcerting to hear their mother come through in the Toriel of this world’s voice.

            They glance up at Sans; he looks nervous and apprehensive. He still hasn’t spoken to Toriel yet and they now seriously think that he won’t unless they either force him or Toriel figures out on her own. He is an expert at pushing off uncomfortable problems off, but now he’s left in the awkward spot of doing his job or coming clean. Frisk decides to take mercy for him first. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

            He nods, but the light in his one socket is still considering Toriel. He shuffles out of the room. Once the door shuts behind him, they abandon their things and walk over to join her by her seat.

            “Yes, my lady?” they try again.

            She nods to the chair besides her. “Take a seat, if you would.”

            They do so, careful to keep a respectful distance without appearing meekly cowering away from her. They fold their leg over the other at the knee and look up at her expectantly. “Is there something I can do for you?”

            Now Toriel considers them, but not for long. She makes a small noise that Frisk recognizes from their own mother as her sighing out her nose. “We are overdue for a… chat.”

            They nod, more to themselves than her as she’s still looking away. “Yes, that sounds right. May I ask a chat about what specifically?”

            “ _Nothing_ specifically,” she corrects, finally turning back to them. “But firstly about the lie you told me when I let you leave the Ruins.”

            Frisk pauses, face carefully blank. “Well,” they begin, “I didn’t lie exactly. Just allowed you to believe what you already assumed of me.”

            “You took advantage of me,” Toriel shoots back, eyes flatly unamused.

            Frisk nods. “Well, yes, of course. But I’d much rather lie by omission than tell a truth that will help no one, especially if the lie hurts no one. _Especially_ if it is only helpful.”

            Toriel looks at them, eyes narrowed for a moment before she sighs and rubs her fingers against her muzzle. “And I am expected to trust you with the welfare of my children and people?”

            Does she have the right to claim them as “her people” after abandoning them to go into exile? Frisk wonders, but puts the thought aside. “I told you, I only lie when it won’t hurt others. When I lied to you, I wasn’t intending to do you real harm, just avoid inflicting it on others.” They demurely duck their head. “And I would certainly never try to hurt Asriel or Chara. Even if you can’t trust my word, I hope that my actions at least prove that much.”

            She can’t argue that _that_ isn’t true at least—they have only recently been officially granted guardianship of the children, but in the weeks since the Barrier came down, they’ve done their best to do right by the children. Even before then, when Asriel was still Flowey and Chara was just a soul piggy backing on their own, only Papyrus could claim that he had equally good intentions by them. Toriel and Asgore can’t claim as much—not that Frisk is going to try and bring that much up now.

            “I am sorry that I didn’t give you a good first impression of me,” they offer. “While I will swear I was only trying to do what I thought was right, we didn’t end on a good note.”

            To their surprise, Toriel snorts. When she looks at them again, they can see something in her eyes that they hope is at least bemusement. “I suppose I should take the moment to admit that I was the one at fault for our first meeting _beginning_ with a sour note.”

            “Only if it would please you, my lady.”

            She looks away, reaching out to fidget with a pen in silence for a long moment. “I’m expected to do a lot of things that don’t please me. I am expected to forgive a world of murderers who would condemn a species for their ancestors’ wrongs, who then murdered my children, stealing them from me. I’m expected to help that useless fool lead his people again or deal with his incompetency in silence.” Her gaze falls heavily on them. “And I am expected to just hand over my children to you, after a century of losing them. Yet, here you would say that it’s alright for me to be petty over something so small?”

            Frisk smooth down a crease in their pant leg to buy for a moment. “Well, my lady, I find that sometimes it’s the little things that make life more bearable. I won’t begrudge you for it.” They offer her a small smile. “It’s not the worst treatment I’ve been given before.”

            Something flashes over Toriel’s face, but it’s gone too soon for Frisk to be sure what it is. But, from the way Toriel doesn’t speak immediately, Frisk thinks that it might have been pity or maybe even empathy. “That doesn’t make it right.”

            Frisk shrugs. “Justice is a luxury that I can’t always afford. It’s something to be fought for and I am not a fighter. Well, not usually.” They grin. “I’m more of a lover than a fighter.”

            “Yes,” she drawls, startling them into amusement. “So I’ve heard.”

            “Oh my.” They pretend to titter, curling a finger around one of the long hanks of hair that frames their face. “Gossip spreads so fast nowadays.”

            Toriel pauses, gazing at their hand, still twisted in their hair. “Why do you wear your hair like that? Doesn’t it just get into your face?”

            Frisk’s hand freezes; it feels like something slammed into their chest. The truth is, they’ve been wearing their hair like this since they were fourteen, when they grew their hair long for a bit. When they went to cut it, they found themselves looking in the mirror and pausing before reaching for the hair in back first. After that, they wore the front of their hair loose in the two long locks while tying the rest back when it was long enough. They clear their throat. “It’s silly, but I like it. It,” they pause, trying to fight down a nervous bubble of giggles. “It makes me look a bit like my mother is all.”

            Toriel is silent, staring at them, and Frisk realizes that she now suspects. “Who is…” she begins; Frisk feels their heart climbing into their throat because this somehow feels more awkward than when they told Sans their more private moments. Then she clears her throat and looks away. “No, never mind.”

            _Oh_ , they think and then try to decide if they feel relieved or disappointed. The question sounded like it would lead to new, uncharted territory and they should feel glad possibly dodging a bullet, but all the same, where might it have led? Perhaps this means that they’re going to have to tell her one day. _Heh, now Sans isn’t the only one not telling her the whole truth. Perhaps I should give him some slack._

            A clock chimes somewhere—Frisk tries not to sigh but finds themselves smiling. “Sans is probably waiting for me to go to lunch,” they murmur.

            “Most likely,” she replies back, slightly surprising them. When they look at her, she smiles, her expression a little—mischievous? “Does he still honestly think he’s fooling me by keeping quiet?”

            Frisk has to bite their lip to not bark a laugh. “Um,” they begin, lips twitching hard. “Well, he’s hoping.” They remember his anxiety about the whole thing and finds their amusement fading into a gentle sympathy. “He’s worried you’ll be furious at him for not stopping me from bringing down the barrier, like he promised he would.”

            “Ah, yes. I did make him promise that,” she says, almost as if she is surprised to hear it. “To be honest, I didn’t really expect him to live up to that. I just assumed that someone else would kill a human before he ever even spotted one. I certainly didn’t think one would get past Asgore or actually bring down the Barrier.” She taps her fingers against the arm of her chair. “Did he try to stop you?”

            “He did,” they nod. “Might have worked if I wasn’t so stubborn about it.”

            She closes her eyes and chuckles. “Ah, yes. You are ‘ _determined’_ at that.” She opens her eyes, gazing at the far wall. “But, despite all your meddling, it did only lead to good.” As they sit up, hopeful, she glances at them. “The Barrier is gone, the Edict repealed. My children returned.” She sighs. “That last one alone is worth it all, even if they are not by my side now.”

            Funny; for some reason, the words feel like high praise. Their chest feels tight as they smile up at her. If only they could offer her some kindness back, but the one thing that would probably make her happy is out of their control—if Asriel and Chara chose to return to her side, that is a decision they will make on their own. It’s not for them to push the children for or against it, not that Frisk would ever dream of it. Frisk can only smile kindly. “The two of them do make a lot of things in this world more bearable, no matter what they are.”

            She turns to them and for a moment, they can see in. There, under the pain and trauma and anger and indignity, they can see that quiet strength and love for her children. She will pull through, for their sakes if nothing. “Well said,” she offers at last. “I think, ambassador, that for the sake of the children, if nothing, that I can overlook your deceptions if you can overlook my attempts of harming you.”

            “Done,” they reply instantly, offering her their hand.

            Her hand dwarfs theirs as she shakes it and for a moment, she smiles. Then she stands, pushing her chair back as they jump up to join her. “I believe Sans is waiting for you. Enjoy your lunch.”

            Frisk bows. “Thank you, my lady.”

            Toriel nods to them and turns, exiting the room with all the grace of a queen. The moment she is gone, Sans reappears directly besides them, making them jump.

            “So,” he begins, glancing at them before shooting a look to Toriel’s recently vacated chair. “How’d it go?”

            “All things considered,” they grin, “pretty damn good.” They pause and consider him before standing. “We just chatted for a bit about stuff.”

            “Stuff, huh?”he drawls as they go to finish collecting their things.

            “Yes.” Once the rest of their things at stowed away into their inventory, they turn to him. “Lunch?”

            “Yeah, sure.” The two walk out together in silence, but they don’t go far before he speaks again. “So, what _did_ you talk about?”

            “Oh, duties. Asriel and Chara.” They glance at him mischievously. “About the fact that she knows exactly who you are.”

            They had to stop to catch him as he stumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! That week off helped--I'm back on time and I even have next week's done, so hopefully that will also be on time. This week's chapter was a request from Brainless Genius over on fanfiction.net, who asked for something with Toriel or Asgore. Since I've been meaning to do some stuff with the both of them, it was the perfect chance--I hope to do a few more chapters with both of them still, but for right now, I wanted to go with how Frisk and Toriel reset their bad relationship into something a little less toxic. While Toriel's still bitter about the kids, her shame's really strong, so as long as the kids are fine and not actually that far away, she's willing to put up with the arrangement for now. She does hope that the kids will want to reconcile one day.


	22. Icy Woes

          No one—well, at least anyone who actually knew him or the royal children—ever tried to argue that Papyrus was anything less than a wonderful, attentive bodyguard and guardian. Despite a few close calls, Asriel and Chara were never hurt by an attacker, assassin or otherwise; the moment either child sent out a distress signal, Papyrus arrived swiftly. He was quick to step into danger to protect the princes, but besides that, he was quick to see to his charges other needs. He cooked for his charges—or at least he prepared meals for them. He fussed after them to finish their homework. He would step in if bullies tried to intimidate them—and in turn the rest of the children in the class, leading him to become their unofficial hero and protector.

          He kept them fed, warm, and protected at every step. He also tried to make sure they were happy.

          That last duty was a little difficult at the moment however.

          Frisk called him just after lunch. With the official date of monster kind’s return to the surface in less than a month, everyone was running around, trying to get everything ready. Even they had to get ready to leave the Underground and half the house was packed up already; a nervous energy was sweeping over monsters and Frisk, the monarchs, and the rest of the council members flew from one new problem to another. Today, something had happened with the Core—some sort of snag with powering it down safely—and Frisk, the scientists, the monarchs—even Sans—and the Core workers were all probably going to be working overtime tonight. This was not unexpected—Frisk and Sans had been putting in more hours of work than a day seemed to actually hold. It was nice to see his brother actually putting effort into things for once, but he still had a problem.

          _“Tell him I’m sorry about cancelling again,”_ Frisk sighed from the other end of the line. He could hear papers shuffling in the background along with Sans’ voice. It sounded like he was talking with someone—Undyne’s girlfriend, probably. They seemed to know each other, somehow—maybe they had worked together all those years ago, back before Sans stopped giving a shit about his life and was content to sink into oblivion if Papyrus hadn’t forced him to get off his ass and do stuff _. “Tell him I’ll try for this weekend, okay?”_

          “I could say that,” he answered, but he was already frowning as he thought fast.

          Frisk yawned on the other end, which turned into a sigh halfway through. _“I feel bad for flaking out on him again.”_

          “He’ll understand.” And he would; Asriel and Chara were both smart children, to Papyrus’s pride, and Asriel was understanding to boot. He always knew to expect good things from him, even when he’d only been a weedy flower. “He knows how busy everyone is right now.”

 _“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it any better,”_ Frisk grumbled. He knew their annoyance wasn’t aimed at him; otherwise, he would have snapped at them. _“What kind of shitty guardian can’t even find time to teach their wards how to ice skate?”_

          He paused as his mind suddenly settled itself. “I could teach him.”

          They fell silent. _“You know-? What am I saying, of course you know how to ice skate.”_ They huffed a laugh while Papyrus allowed himself a moment to preen. _“But are you okay with that? You got your own stuff to do tonight too—it’s Mettaton’s special tonight.”_

          Papyrus frowned. On one hand, it was one of Mettaton’s shows and he never missed one of those. Especially since he’d actually gotten to meet Mettaton, to talk to his favorite celebrity of all time, to shake his hand, to be squeezed in a hug.

          But on the other hand, he knew exactly what Asriel’s face was going to look like when he told him that Frisk had to cancel on him again. Papyrus squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I’ll just… tape it.”

          Frisk was quiet for a moment before chuckling fondly. _“Papyrus, my love, you really are a hero.”_

          “Yes, well,” he said, trying to hide his glee from the recognition, “I am nothing if not a good guard.”

          _“Yes, darling, we all know that. Thank you for this—I promise, I’ll find some way to make it up to you both. Have a good time.”_

          “I do not doubt for a second that we won’t.”

 

 

 

          He waited for a few more hours until at last he saw Asriel’s class let out—he wasn’t allowed in the classroom anymore, not after he kept terrifying children with his glowing battle ready eye whenever they tried to push Asriel around. In a few minutes, he was surrounded by children, calling their farewells all at once as they waved and scrambled off. One particularly brave child paused to get his autograph before scurrying off.

          Asriel was grinning by the time he actually reached Papyrus. “Did you give Kid an autograph?”

          “Is that his name?” he asked, half curious; he could have sworn he’d seen the armless child running around Snowdin a few times, but he hadn’t paid children any attention back then. Still, that was then and now he actually had an honest-to-god fan. Life was strange—wonderful, but strange.

          “Yeah,” Asriel answered; Papyrus had no way to know that the prince was considering telling him that Kid had once grumbled to Frisk about him, perhaps congratulate the skeleton on completely turning the boy around to him. Instead, he just smiled. “So, time to head home? Has Frisk called yet?”

          Papyrus paused, turning back to the child. “Yes, they did.”

          Asriel waited for a moment before his shoulders slumped. “They can’t make it, can they?”

          His bodyguard frowned before reaching down to put a hand on his charge’s shoulder. “They called and explained they had to work late again.”

          Asriel stared at the floor, face unreadable to some, but obviously miserable to him before he shrugged. “Well, they… have a lot of stuff on their plate, so…”

          Papyrus didn’t bother to wait for Asriel to finish; instead he pulled his hand back enough to smack the boy between the shoulders. He meant it in a bracing way, but he still missed Asriel nearly crashing to the ground while he straightened. “Instead, _I_ shall be instructing you this evening!”

          “What?” he asked after he managed to right himself. He kept staring up at the skeleton, eyes wide, mouth open. “I—you know how to ice skate?”

          Papyrus raised one of his eyebrow ridges at him. “I _did_ live in Snowdin.”

          “Oh,” he said first before his eyes widened again. “Oh! It’s just—you have such long legs, I always just figured you jumped over the ice.”

          Papyrus let himself have a moment to preen—he did have long legs, even if they were on the skinny side, but it was nice to be noticed even it was for something he had no control over—and smirked. “Well, it is true that I could and often _did_ jump over the patches of ice as necessary, there were plenty of areas of Snowdin’s forest where going across ice is unavoidable.  So, I do, in fact, know how to skate across it. With and without actual skates!”

          “Wow,” Asriel gasped, starry eyed. “So, so, you can teach me to skate both ways?”

          Papyrus blinked. He… actually hadn’t planned that at all, but now that the idea is on the table, it actually is pretty sound. The fact is, he didn’t have ice skates any more—Doom Fanger kept throwing up in them and they forever smelled until he decided to pitch them. Actually, that was a funny story too—he’d gone to toss them out only to find the River Person sifting through their trash. He’d stared, baffled mostly because the River Person _never_ left their boat and because the River Person wasn’t stealing anything, just sorting out the recyclables because Sans had been too lazy to do it properly. They’d stared at each other—or Papyrus assumed the ferry person stared back—before the River Person abruptly walked off leaving him standing in the snow wondering what the hell that’d been about. Still, he needed a pair of skates after that, but perhaps he’d found a good excuse for not having a pair on short notice. He beamed, pleased. “Yes, of course! Tonight, I think, we shall focus on skating _without_ skates. We can worry about skating with them later.”

          Asriel began to hop in place, practically vibrating in joy. “When can we go? Can we go now? Are we going to eat out for supper? Are we-? Oh, wait! Where are we going to skate?”

          “We can go now,” he answered bluntly, turning on his heel to walk out already. His prince quickly scrambled to follow him. Yes, better to go now, while it was light—monster fights and overall aggression had dropped fast in the past months, but Papyrus had no desire to be out after dark if he could manage, especially not with his charges out and about.

          He paused to hold open the door, waiting as his prince scrambled out of it. Hmm, perhaps he was walking too fast. He offered Asriel his hand; the boy quickly put his hand in his and gripped it as he settled on a faster pace. Holding his prince’s hand tight, Papyrus headed out of New Home, toward the winding river and its ferry.

 

 

 

          Skating practice did not go exactly as planned. Turned out, skating without skates, while a proud tradition among some monsters, was probably a more advanced technique than what you should really start out with for beginners. Hell, even he need a few turns around the ice before he was steady on his feet again. Asriel could handle the easy bits—a sideways slide that wasn’t all that different from sliding around in socks on a polished wood floor. The starting and stopping parts, however, eluded him and while Papyrus could give him a little push to get started, when it came to stopping he often ended up on his back or facedown.

          Papyrus hid a wince as Asriel smacked once more onto the ice, this time hard enough that Papyrus could hear the breath leave his lungs in a big _whoosh_. Carefully, he slid over the ice, stopping next to the prince’s side. “That was your knees that time. You can’t let them go whichever way they want.”

          Asriel groaned as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. When he tried to brace his hands against the ice, he hissed. Quickly, he started chewing on his lips to stop himself from making more noises.

          Biting back a sigh of his own, Papyrus reached down and picked up his prince, grabbing him under his armpits and lifting him up to set him back up on his feet. He narrowed his eyes when he heard the faint chattering of teeth coming from his prince. He cursed himself momentarily for wearing his gloves—while neither cold nor heat bothered him, without his gloves he’d at least be able to tell if Asriel was colder than he should be.

          “T-thanks, Papyrus,” Asriel managed, teeth still chattering.

          He held out his hands. “Your hands, your highness.”

          Asriel blinked up at him. “What?”

          “Please let me examine your hands.”

          After a moment, the prince held out his hands—as Papyrus had thought, despite the thick fur, the soft pads of flesh on each digit and the palm were scrapped raw and bright red. “It’s not that bad. I can keep going,” he said without prompting, eyes shining.

          Rather than snort, Papyrus reached into his inventory and got out the bag of Monster Candy Frisk had bought him. While his healing magic was more than satisfactory for healing the princes, Frisk had pointed out that neither Asgore nor Toriel would appreciate seeing him constantly tossing attacks at their children, even if they were for healing, so Frisk had bought him a bag of candy for just this sort of thing. He dug out a piece of candy and dropped it into one of Asriel’s palms.

          Quickly, the boy ate it, but he was still frowning as his palms returned to normal. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly after a moment.

          Papyrus stared at him, cocking his head to the side. “What for?”

          He shifted from one foot to the other, fiddling with one of his sleeves. “I’m not… very good at this.”

          He didn’t even think before he scoffed and reached out to help resettle Asriel’s t-shirt on his shoulders—even if he couldn’t feel it, he could plainly see how damp the shirt had gotten. Wasn’t that a problem for fleshy beings? Didn’t the damp and cold when mixed cause colds or something? He had no idea—he wished Frisk was about, they would at least be able to answer his questions. “Nonsense! All things considered, you’ve done very well for your first time.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Hm. I think we should have gotten you a coat for this.”

          “I’m _not_ cold.”

          “Maybe not, but you are wet.”

          As if to spite him, Asriel swirled his magic around himself. Quickly, steam began to rise into the air and Papyrus could see his clothes drying.

          He barked a laugh and allowed Asriel a moment for the boy to smirk at his own trick. “Very clever, my prince.”

          Asriel’s eager grin faded into something more self-deprecating as he turned his gaze downward. “Um, yeah. My clothes are drying. There’s, um, just one problem.”

          Papyrus looked down at the prince’s feet—where before the ice had been a solid, flat piece of ice, a puddle was starting to form around his feet. “Ah. Yes. Well, that is a problem.”

          Asriel’s shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry, Papyrus. I can’t skate and now I’ve ruining the ice too. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

          “You most certainly are not,” Papyrus snapped, a tad harsher than he meant it to come out, but at least it got Asriel to look up at him. He opened his mouth to continue but then they both froze at the loud groaning coming from below their feet. Without a word, he reached down and scooped the prince up before hurrying to the side of the frozen pond—the pond underneath was not deep, probably going up as far as Asriel’s waist, but he knew enough about flesh to know that a dunk in icy water was definitely a bad idea. Once they were safely off the ice, they both released a sigh. “I think that is enough for today.”

          The prince shook his head as the skeleton sat him down on the ground. “I’m terrible at this.”

          Papyrus grunted a noise of disapproval. “Well, a defeatist mindset like that definitely isn’t going to help you get better! If I talked to myself like that, would I ever have gotten as far as I have? No!” He would have given upon on a great many a thing if he’d been discouraged so easily—while he might claim otherwise, he wasn’t a great cook still, but he was getting better. Still, he’d keep that example to himself. “If I’d let difficulty get the best of me, I’d never have become a guard in the first place and where would either of us be?”

          Asriel was quiet for a moment. “I’d probably be dead.”

          “There, you see! It’s a good thing I didn’t give up, just as it would be a good thing for you too.”

          “…Chara agrees with you,” he said after a long moment. “They say I should ‘stay determined’.”

           He lifted his chin a little higher and allowed himself a pleased smirk. “Of course, Chara agrees with me. They’re a smart child, so they know I’m right. You should trust their judgment.”

          There was a moment of silence then a snicker and some giggles from Asriel. When Papyrus shot him a bemused look, Asriel lifted his head so they could see eye to eye. “Chara says ‘thanks’.”

          He was fairly certain that was _not_ precisely what Chara said, but as the child hadn’t decided to speak directly to him, he just decided to take Asriel at his word. “Well then, they’re welcome.”

          Asriel smiled and fell quiet until they reached the river. As Papyrus lowered him into the boat, he scooted over and allowed his guard some room.

          Once the ferry started to move, zipping along swiftly down the river, Papyrus half expected Asriel to grow distracted, watching the water while Papyrus kept watch on the banks of the river. But a few minutes after they passed the halfway point of Waterfall, he felt a tug on his shirt. Glancing down, he found Asriel staring up at him.

          “Papyrus?” he called over the sound of the wind and waves. “Thanks for taking me ice skating today. It was pretty cool.”

          “Any time, my prince.”

          “Maybe could try again sometime? I’m not sure Frisk’s ever going to be _not_ busy.”

          “Of course, your highness. I am always happy to help my prince in any way I can.” He paused, a great idea coming to him. Enthused, he punched his fist into his open palm. “In fact, I have a great idea! We will return here tomorrow and continue your lessons tomorrow. Under my tutelage, you will be a skating pro in no time!”

          He completely missed of alarm that shot over Asriel’s face. “But tomorrow’s Chara’s-” He paused, blinked, and then shrugged. “Chara says they wouldn’t mind learning to skate.”

          “Good! With both of you as my pupils, you’ll both be able to expertly maneuver on land or ice. A useful talent if there was one!”

          “Students…” Asriel murmured before grinning. “Hey, does this mean I should get a cool bandana like yours, so people know you’re training me?” His school didn’t have a uniform, but he’d been looking forward to them for a while. Papyrus knew it had something to do with one of his cartoons and the idea that people from a certain school wore certain clothes—why, he had no idea, but it sounded fun.

          “An excellent idea! Here,” he reached up and pulled his bandana off sliding it over Asriel’s head. “I have more at home.”

          Asriel’s face lit up. “This is so cool! Papyrus, you really are the best.”

          Papyrus preened. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time ago, I got asked for some Papyrus and Asriel bonding--while I did answer that request, it came out a little different than I really wanted, so I decided to make another chapter.
> 
> Also, barring any more requests, I think we have a dozen or so chapters left. After that, I think it'll be time to end this fic. Whether I do a proper sequel or not, well, I'm still thinking that over.


	23. Duet

       Flowey knew he should probably yell at Frisk for this. While playing around with Echo Flowers might be kinda fun—at least _they_ didn’t attack others—he was well aware of how dangerous making too much racket was. But he also knew just how _exhausting_ fear was; he’d been in a constant state of it since the first time he woke up in Asgore’s garden. It kept him alive, but it also wore him down until he learned that he had to find a way to take a break or snap from the strain.

       So when Frisk started humming to themselves as they picked through the muddy waters of Waterfall’s marshes, Flowey tapped one of the Echo Flowers close to them with a vine, prompting it to repeat Frisk’s hum back. Frisk nearly leapt clear out of the mud and knocked him loose from his perch on their arm if it’d hadn’t been for the death grip he had on it.

       “Calm down,” he sighed. “It’s just an Echo Flower.”

       They blinked down at him. “An Echo… Flower?”

       “Yeah, the tall bright blue flowers all around us.” He reached out and tapped the blossom again. This time, his voice was the one that came out, repeating his words exactly. “They repeat whatever they heard last. It’s a good way to leave messages for others. Or screw around. People used to come here a lot back in the old days to whisper their wishes to them. Not so much nowadays.”

       Frisk considered the flowers around them with a great deal more interest; Flowey tried to imagine himself feeling a little proud for having distracted them from their anxieties, but all he really felt was the usual unchanging acceptance that he felt for most things that weren’t immediate threats to his health. He ignored his own unchanging state to watch as they studied the large blossom.

       After a moment, Frisk whistled a quick tune into a flower; they tapped the flower and then grinned as their song came back to them. “This is amazing, Flowey! Do they all do that?”

       “Yeah, sure.”

       Frisk beamed as they hummed a few bars and then laughed as the flower repeated them. “Oh, this would be great for looping a song. Hey, can a flower, you know, uh… record? Repeat something another flower said?”

       He shook his head. “Nah. You can make a bunch of flowers repeat the same thing if you say it loud enough to make your voice carry or if you just get a bunch of them together in one place. But for some reason they don’t copy each other.”

       “Huh. It’d be kind of cool if you could get a whole field of them looping off each other,” they murmured. “But still, this is pretty neat.”

       He’d only meant to distract them for a moment, just break the tension a little bit for them, but now he realized it might have worked a little too well. And despite the fact that he should have prodded them to keep moving, it was the first time in days—actually, if you counted the time loops, it must have been going on weeks now that they’d been trying to keep moving since they first met in the Ruins—that he saw them really smile. So he let them sing some lines into the flower for a few minutes, watching as their face eased into a contented glow.

       Of course, he should have known it was too good to last. Just as he was about to suggest getting a move on, there was a rustle in the grass. Frisk had sense to jump up at least, but when they did, they brushed against the flower, making it sing again.

       A monster appeared in the grass, eyes fixed on them. Frisk froze and Flowey got ready to use his vines to try and defend Frisk if he needed to. Then the monster blinked and turned to stare at the blossom and Flowey realized who it was. “Ah shit, it’s Shyren.”

       Frisk tensed up. “Is that bad?”

       He fought the habit of rolling his eyes—seriously, what a dumb question, as if any time they ran into a monster meant good things—but then he paused.

       Shyren gazed at the flower before looking up at Frisk. She paused, fidgeted, and then finally released a gentle, wavering note that floated through the air.

       Frisk easily avoided the magic bullet, but looked at the monster curiously. “Does she… _really_ want to hurt me?”

       Flowey sighed. _Oh, brother_ ; he knew _that_ tone. “She’s a monster. Of course she wants to hurt you.”

       Frisk frowned and to his unease, sang a few bars of their own song.

       That only seemed to make Shyren perk up more. Despite Flowey’s misgivings, she sang a few more notes, her voice fitting with Frisk’s own charming voice so that they flowed together, a few Echo Flowers looping the two voices.

       Frisk grinned again.

       _Oh, **damn it.**_ He’d really done it now. Flowey clung to Frisk’s arm, still watching mistrustfully as the human and the monster sang together. Despite the fact that he took no pleasure or displeasure from their performance, he had to admit that the two voices matched well, Shyren’s high and sweet while Frisk’s huskier voice rose gentle and warm—perhaps they were pitching their voice lower, but it still sounded excellent.

       The only problem was when Shyren’s agent appeared a few minutes later, crashing through the grass, waving their limbs so acid flew off. Frisk yelped and ducked down to avoid a few drops.

       _This is just bullshit,_ he thought, or at least that’s the next thought he had after _oh god no_ and _why can’t anything go well._ He formed a ring of seed bullets around them in the vague hope that he might be able to blast a few of the drops of acid away if they got too close. That was his hope, but he huddled close Frisk and braced himself for pain.

       But it didn’t come. Instead, Frisk and Flowey both froze as Shyren hurried over to her agent and blocked their path, making soft, placating sounds. Abruptly, the agent paused, as if listening.

       “What’s happening?” Frisk whispered, voice trembling.

       Flowey shushed them and went back to watching, trying to understand as well.

       Finally, the conversation—if it was one—stopped when both monsters turned to look at the two of them. Then, abruptly as they appeared, they turned and vanished back into the grasses of Waterfall’s marshes.

       “Holy crap,” he mumbled, rising up so he could try to peer over the top of the grass. There, trailing off into the shadows without a glance back, he saw the pair of monsters ambling away. “They actually spared you.”

       Frisk’s face was alight in wonder. “Really? You’re sure?”

       He scowled down at them. “Yes, I’m sure. But don’t let it go to your head!” he snapped in a hurry. “I don’t know why they didn’t attack you, but it probably won’t happen again. Don’t go thinking it will.”

       Frisk frowned softly in the direction they had disappeared. Then, gently they reached out and pressed their fingers to the Echo Flower. It played Shyren’s voice, repeating her part of their duet back.

       Flowey frowned at the flower, biting back a sigh as Frisk began to smile. _Well,_ he thought, _at least they are smiling. That has to be good for something, I guess._ “Come on. If those two found us, we really aren’t in a safe spot. Let’s get going before Undyne finds us.”

       “It’ll be okay, Flowey,” they murmured, standing while they reached up and rubbed one of his petals between their fingers—they’d claimed it was for good luck, but Flowey wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t sure how he would feel about it if he still had feelings. Embarrassed? Pleased? He didn’t know, couldn’t care.

       Together, they walked into the shadows of the marshes, but at least one of their hearts was a little lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot it was Wednesday! Here's a quick chapter that was a request by alextisgr8, who wanted a scene with Fell!Frisk were they got to be happy for once. This would be from part of their run before Sans stepped in to try and help them survive. He's probably already trying to help subtly, but probably by the time Undyne killed them a few dozen times in very quick succession, he decided to take a more active roll.
> 
> Also, despite the fact that Shyren is a little shit to Data!Frisk, Fell!Frisk is 11 years younger and liked to sing, so Shyren just wanted to have some fun. Fell!monsters, in this verse at least, are on the mischievous side, but with "kill or be killed" it's kind of hard to have non-murderous fun. I wonder if means that despite the tension, sometimes a Fell!monster might act even sillier than their Classic!Tale counterpart. It's a funny idea, if nothing.


	24. Lights in the Dark

       A dagger stabbed Undyne in between the ribs exactly eight months after the Edict was repealed. She was, admittedly, lucky—the wound was shallow, because the blade had been too wide to get properly between the seams of her armor. Also, her attackers, a group of three schmucks who had the audacity to think they could beat her, completely underestimated Papyrus. Every monster seemed to know about Frisk and Asriel’s pacifism and plenty knew that Papyrus often tried not to kill too now; some took it as a noble feature, others as a weakness. 

       The second group never figured out how wrong they were until they found themselves pinned painfully or battered by magic bones. Papyrus may not have been trying to kill, but he moved faster and fought smarter than ever now. Undyne felt a little thrill of pride for her comrade as he ripped one attacker off her while Undyne pulled the dagger out and stabbed an attacker with it.

       There were two beaten monsters and a pile of dust by the time the fight was done. Undyne caught Papyrs looking hard at the pile of dust—that had been Undyne’s kill, but Papyrus was the one who looked guiltier. Despite the metallic taste on her tongue trying to distract her, Undyne forced herself to smile as she clapped a hand to Papyrus’ back. “Don’t look so down, man! He got what he deserved and that’s one less person to worry about.”

       Papyrus looked up at her, frowning. “Undyne, you’re bleeding.”

       Undyne blinked and looked down at her side when he finally pointed to it. “Why, so I am.” That was when the dizziness hit her, sending her staggering until she felt the slam of three healing bullets smack into her. She glared at the double image of Papyrus—rude of him to make two of himself for the fight, why it was practically cheating. “Hey, now, I didn’t hit you. Fuck off.”

       Papyrus began to look faintly alarmed. “Undyne, you’re bleeding _a lot.”_

       _And you’re not healing fast enough._ That’s what he didn’t say, but she didn’t need him to when she could hear it ringing perfectly fine in her head. She frowned. “Ah, fuck. Alphys is going to be pissed about this,” she declared before her legs began to shake.

 

 

 

       The problem was her hope. It’d always been her hope. It began when she was ten, when Mom died. When her mothers’ friends all looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders while she stood, frozen to her core. Gerson had been the one to step in then, to take her in then—she wasn’t the first orphan he looked after. But even he wasn’t sure what to do with the raw well of rage that screamed inside her until she snuck a knife in her pocket during a field trip. She tried to stab the Overlord then—it’d been his fault, it was his stupid law—but he’d smacked her down as if it were nothing. Her rat bastard of a teacher abandoned her to her fate; she gritted her teeth and forced herself to look in her king’s eyes.

       She didn’t know it then, not that that was much of a surprise, but when he stood over her, pinning her down with only the butt end of his halberd, he was reminded of another child. In a moment of—whimsy? Regret? Pity?—he spared her and then began to critique her sloppy performance.

       It started then with her pinned to the ground, helpless and humiliated. Sure, the meeting ended with her living and an offer of training, but that was the exact moment Undyne felt her once unshakable faith in justice fail her—this had been her last chance to avenge her parents with a clean conscience. After that, to murder him would be to murder a mentor and when she was older she would realize that by agreeing she had dirtied her hands as well.

       That was when the pillar of hope she’d stood upon had begun to crack. The rest of the damage came over the years, little nicks and dings in her pillar.

       Some blows, however, fell hard and left deep impacts. The first time she’d speared another monster—when she was fourteen and an older girl tried to jump her on her way home from school—she’d watch wide-eyed as her victim crumbled to dust. She looked down at the pile of dust, stunned, until she had a thought. _Is someone going to be able to find this and collect her dust? Am I… should I tell someone where her remains are?_

The thought, which she’d only pondered idly, made her stomach flip. Clutching her mouth, she scrambled away, leaving the remains behind. She ran all the way home to Gerson, told him what happened, and let him deal with it. She vaguely remembered that he called around, trying to get someone to go collect the dust. She didn’t know if anyone ever did go get it. Perhaps the dust had been washed away into the marshes.

       The hardest blows were always the human children—four times, she went and collected the human children that fell into their realm. The first was the bookworm in the shadowy grasses of Waterfall. That kid had lost their glasses in the dark and had stumbled around. By the time she found them, the child had started to cry in desperation. Knocking them unconscious and dragging them to Asgore had been pathetically easy, but as she carried the small bundle, she’d felt her stomach turn. The child might have been a human, but they were so _small_ and she could still see the tear tracks running down their dirty cheeks. As she handed the child over, she looked at them in Asgore’s big hands and thought _that could just be a monster child for all the fight they had._

       Like the first time she killed someone, her stomach twisted and writhed. She held herself together until Asgore dismissed her. Why couldn’t the child had been like the humans from before? The little brawler had made a mess of the monsters in Snowdin before he’d been struck down, and everyone in Waterfall still remembered the ballerina who’d cut a respectable swath into watery region before Gerson himself struck her down. Why couldn’t this child had been like them? It would have been a challenge then. It would have been less like murdering an innocent.

       The next was easier, the little cowboy wannabe who almost made it into Hotland. He’d had spunk, but when she handed him over to Asgore, she couldn’t help but notice how small his body had also been. The child after him—well, she could at least convince herself that his death had practically been a mercy killing after what the Tems did to him.

       The last child, though, that was the one that had haunted her memories and nightmares. Smaller than all the others—she’d only been four, she later learned—and no fight at all. She’d cried, helpless and terrified, for her mother and looking at her was like looking back at herself when Mama had died. She wouldn’t call herself maternal, but even she’d wanted to comfort the child as she carried her to her doom. Her desperate cries had beaten her hope down—Alphys managed to distract her for a while, but that crying waited patiently to remind her of her sins.

       Frisk had once said that you carry the weight of your sins on your back—Undyne could believe it. Guilt pulled her down like quicksand, but it was her sins that forced her to bow her head.

       Who was she to deserve hope after all that? Her continued existence really did just prove that justice really was a farce after all.

 

 

 

       Her head still felt funny as Papyrus marched her to the lab, even though he’d stopped to heal her a couple times already. He never really seemed to accept the concept that she just couldn’t recover as quickly as she should—Sans could even heal faster than her, but that was just because his HP was so damn low in the first place. He must have called Alphys at some point to warn her, not that Undyne remembered that. All she knew was that the doors were unlocked and the traps disabled ahead of time as they stepped into the Lab.

       Alphys came scrambling out of her room in the back to greet them as Papyrus dragged her further into the room. “What’s her status?” the scientist gasped as she jerked to a halt before them.

       “Her wound still won’t mend itself, no matter how many times I try healing her,” he grumbled, letting her stand mostly on her own power, although he kept a firm grip on her arms. It was a good idea because her knees were still just water then. “She’s disoriented as well.”

       “Blood loss,” Alphys murmured, reaching up to steady Undyne as well.

       Undyne grimaced and waved the both off, ignoring the way the room shifted helter skelter around her as she did so. “I’m a big fucking girl, I can look after myself.”

       “Go to bed, Undyne,” Papyrus sighed. “We have training in the morning.”

       There Papyrus went, making plans with her again as if it was only a matter of fact that she’d be there in the morning. Usually, she found it endearing. Right now, she just wanted to lay down on the floor and never get up again. She forced herself to grunt. “Whatever.”

       “Doctor,” Papyurs said by way of farewell before he turned and stalked out the door.

       Alphys muttered something—it might have been a goodbye, but it also might just be her rattling off some bit of science under her breath. That was also usually endearing. Not today. “Come on,” she said after a moment, gently tugging on Undyne’s wrist. “Let’s get you in the back so I can lock up and you can get o-out of that armor.”

       Getting out of the armor did sound like an admittedly great idea and not even for the usual fun reasons when Alphys peeled the armor off her. She let her girlfriend shepherd her into the back and then sunk onto the bed as Alphys fiddled with her computer, probably setting up the perimeter defenses. Just because the Edict was gone, it didn’t mean that someone wouldn’t try getting into mischief and with the stuff Alphys kept in her lab, they could really cause some trouble.

       Alphys finished her typing with a few last decisive keystrokes before she turned to face Undyne. “Time to get you out of that armor.”

       Another day, that could have led to some easy teasing that would have gotten Alphys flustered, but right then she as too busy fumbling with the clasps of her armor to care. She appreciated the hiss of sympathy Alphys made when she saw the wound, but only managed some grunts and shrugs when Alphys asked her questions. She wasn’t terribly interested in what was to come—Alphys would patch her up, tell her that she could stay, but then she’d sit up most the night, fretting over Undyne and her readouts until she finally slumped over in her chair. That used to be kind of adorable—while she wasn’t a fan of having others worry over her, there was something about _having_ people _to_ worry over her that was just gratifying—but tonight it just seemed like another failure. It was hard to watch as Alphys finished fixing her up.

       “Your hope is down again,” Alphys murmured, fretting coming clear in her words even as she tried to keep her tone even.

       “That’s nothing new.”

       Alphys grimaced. “A-actually, it is. Lately, you’ve-”

       Her computer on the desk made an eerie noise making them both freeze. Then the noise turned into a crunching, chugging squeal that made Alphys curse and run to it.

       Undyne stared. “What the hell was that?”

       Whatever it was, it was bad enough that Alphys nearly had to throttle a curse word to get it out of her mouth while she scrambled to type something. “F-f-ucking u-useless piece of s-s-shit!” Her voice trailed off into more swearing until she seemed to finally realize that Undyne had spoke. “The god-d-damn thing is t-trying to—no! D-d-d-!”

       Abruptly, the computer made a new noise and then the screen went to black.

       Undyne blinked at the computer before glancing at her girlfriend. Alphys only stared at the screen silently for a long moment before reaching out and drumming her fists softly against the top of her desk. She looked like she desperately longed to smash her fists against it, but somehow she managed to take a deep breath.

       “It’s okay,” she announced, despite Undyne not asking anything again. “I can fix this.” She winced and then cracked her neck, still looking at the screen murderously. “I _can_ fix this. I can.”

       She should ask about _this_ , whatever this was. That’s what women normally did for their girlfriends, right? She did her best to shrug off the cloud of apathy fogging her brain—when her hope got low like this, she found it harder to care. Something about her hope not being able to offset her high LV or something—Alphys had said it once and it’d gone straight out her other ear. Still, this was Alphys. She could at least pretend to give a shit. “Uh,” Undyne finally tried. “Should I, uh, go?”

       Alphys blinked blankly at her for a long time. “No. I can fix this.” She took a deep breath. “I j-just need… a moment.”

       “Well, um. If you’re sure.”

       “I can fix this,” she repeated, turning back to the screen. Rolling her shoulders, she pulled off her lab coat and rolled up her sleeves before reaching for the computer tower. Dragging it over, she pulled out her phone and began to pull tools out of her inventory. Quickly, she got to work, pulling off the side panel to the tower and setting it aside. As she did so, she seemed to remember Undyne and looked up at her. “Uh, t-there’s a laptop on the b-bedside table if you w-want to look through the shows for something to watch.”

       Well, her only other option was to take a nap, but as she had no idea how long Alphys would be. She’d need to be awake then, otherwise Alphys would let her sleep in the bed and then not go to bed herself until Undyne dragged her sleeping body to the bed in the morning.

       Reaching for the laptop, Undyne turned it on. She checked her profile online for a bit, but then gave up on that and began to dig through Alphys’ many video folders. Amusingly, Alphys was such a nerd—a nerd Undyne loved, really, honestly, but a giant nerd nonetheless—that she’d set up giant organization groups for the many types of folders and the media inside, but she’d also created directories to better search. In fact, she’d even created a directory for her directories, just to keep it even more exact.

       Usually the sight of the files and the over organization was enough to make her at least smile. Tonight, Undyne just blinked and picked a folder at random. Looking through, her eyes skimmed over familiar folders. Here were the horror movies, action movies, the comedies—then in another section, the television series, with many more familiar titles.

       One folder, however, gave her pause. “Human Histories” it said simply. Undyne blinked at it—she’d seen the name before, but Alphys had quickly pointed her to other ones that she would “probably enjoy a lot more”. Undyne hadn’t cared then, but right then she decided to let curiosity win out. Curiosity was usually considered better than this nothing she felt, right? Might as well indulge it.

       Clicking on it revealed another giant section of folders with a variety of titles. High school of the Dead, Corpse Party, Berserk. These were human _histories?_ Well, at least these sounded interesting, but again, nothing that didn’t sound like something she hadn’t seen before in Alphys other folders. Skipping through the folders, she kept reading them until she paused at one long title. Puella Magi Madoka Magica. What a mouthful. Still, was that Latin? She didn’t give a shit about human or their shit-ton of languages, but Latin at least looked cool. It stuck out amongst the others, so she clicked on it.

       There was about three dozen videos, from what looked a tv series and then three numbered movies. Where was she supposed to start? Frowning, she noticed another file, a writing program of some sort. Clicking on it brought a short note.

       In the note, there was a picture and text. The picture made Undyne’s lips twitch in surprise—it was some cotton candy colored pastel cartoon featuring some young girls and a—a monster? A white and pink cat, rabbit-y creature that smiled blankly. What the hell kind of show was this that Alphys had found—it looked like a kid’s cartoon, but why would her girlfriend be watching that junk? Under the picture, there was a few bullet points, one that started with “summary”. Undyne promptly skipped that and instead looked down at the bottom of the note.

       Alphys, her beautiful, nerdy girlfriend had made a list. It had three numbered points. “One) Show people first two episodes for context. Two) Show them episode three. Three) Laugh at their faces.”

       Undyne blinked and looked up back to that picture again. What was that about? Was this some kind of strange torture Alphys had thought up? Was there some disgustingly cutesy thing in episode three that would make them hurl or something? Was this some bizarre creation that would drive a sensible monster mad to watch it?

       Looking the notes over, she skipped the summary again to see what the middle bit of the notes had been, only to find it some weird, circular argument Alphys was having with herself about the “pros and cons of dub or sub” and then whether it was better to watch the whole series or to stick to the movies. Whatever that meant.

       She leaned back into the pillow, frowning at the screen. Just what had she found? Glancing at Alphys, she shrugged. Well, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do. Exiting the program, she decided to watch at least an episode—that’d be shorter than a movie, wouldn’t it?

       The show started promisingly with some odd imagery and a killer song, but then the scene turned out to be a dream sequence. Undyne resigned herself to the cutesy life of this human brat for a while, until a new character showed up. A dark haired girl was introduced as—a transfer student? In the Underground, there was a grand total of two schools—one in Snowdin and then one in New Home and depending on where you lived, that’s where you went to school. She remembered the bitter cold of Snowdin in her youth until Asgore took her on as a student—after that Gerson had her transferred over to New Home, mostly because at least that way she wouldn’t be running around the entire Underground. After that, the Snowdin School had shut down—lack of students attending—and the students had been shuffled into the New Home school system. The class sizes were still small, as most people up until recently homeschooled their kids, to better protect them. At any rate, the idea of students just transferring randomly was just bizarre. Nearly as bizarre as the new girl who seemed very… intense. Undyne decided she was interesting if nothing, a shadow in this candy colored world.

       The episode went back to the cavity inducing sweetness from before, leading her eyes to start to glaze over. Then there was a small, perplexing scene with the transfer student and the monster looking animal that made her blink. Then the lead got a telepathic message leading her to go save the mascot critter from the transfer student. Curious, she watched the dark haired girl walk towards the lead—only to get doused with a fire extinguisher by the lead’s friend and then left behind as the other two took off. At least blue haired girl had spunk and daring—she could respect that. While the scene was a bit anticlimactic, Undyne didn’t even have time to sink back into her distracted mindset before the episode got _weird_. The art style changed into something from a demented scrapbook.

       The two girls tried to escape from the transfer student only to be menaced by a group of startling looking monsters. At least, Undyne assumed that’s what they were—honestly, they kind of looked like some monsters she’d once seen in her own life. So, maybe it wasn’t just some dumb cartoon? Maybe it really was some sort of “historical” record? She lifted her head to ask Alphys only to find Alphys seething as she hammered at something in the computer’s casing with the butt end of a screwdriver.

       Well, she looked busy. With a shrug, she went back to her show.

       The show ended not that long after that—another girl showed up and turned out to be some sort of human mage who ended a fight with an impressive display of firepower while a sick song played in the background.  _Huh. Must be sweet have sick music playing during your battles. I should have asked Alphys to hook me up some sort of radio to play music. Eh, that’s probably something Mettaton would do… pass._

Still, as the episode ended, she was left there, frowning thoughtfully. While it’d been different, she wasn’t entirely sure about it yet. But hadn’t Alphys’ notes said that the first two episodes were for “context” while something interesting happened in episode three? She decided to take a shot at the next two and booted those up.

       The second one was… well, boring wasn’t precisely the word she would go for, but she didn’t miss it when it was over. Mostly it’d been talking and set up. With it done, she could finally start on the third episode.

       She didn’t get what the big deal was at first. The episode started simple—more talking, some character development, yadda yadda. Then blue haired friend apparently had a beau in the hospital? Well, whatever—boys had always been overrated in Undyne’s opinion. When her and the lead girl left the hospital, now that’s when things started to pick up. There was some sort of monster—Witch?—egg thing that led to one of those weird magical dimensions things the others also had. Blue girl wanted to protect her boy, so lead girl ran off and got the mage. There was a standoff when transfer student showed up, but the mage neatly handled her and then went off.

       There were some nice bits about the lead deciding she wanted to fight too—to help her friend. That Undyne could respect that, and the mage seemed to like it too. There was a fight with some of the monster minions and then the mage went to fight the real boss battle with a bizarre toy like monster that released a much larger monster after a short, but brutal fight.

       For a moment, the mage looked like she had it all under control.

       Then the monster shot through the air with amazing speed and

       And

       “Holy shit,” she whispered, stunned. Alphys didn’t seem to hear her. “Did that thing just eat her head?”

       Undyne blinked, rewound the video and watched again—the monster lunging, opening its maw. The mage, staring, her cocky smile falling off her lips as the teeth closed in on her. The shots of the horrified lead and friend, watching. Then transfer student—mage—girl, coming in and pulling off an efficient victory that even Undyne could admire.

       The episode ended with the transfer student scolding the other two girls for their naivety while they mourned their friend. Then the episode cut to the credits. While a new song played—and she distantly noted that it was actually a pretty dope song—she stared at the screen.

       _What the fuck did I just watch? So this… this wasn’t a kid’s show? Holy shit? Was this actually real or something?_

       After a long moment of stunned confusion, Undyne glanced back to the screen. And clicked to watch the next episode.

       The next episode was interesting—the girls were mourning the loss of their friend still, while blue haired friend went and made a decision Undyne thought was brave—if not rash and dumb. When the episode ended on a cliffhanger with the introduction of a new character, she was curious enough to click into the next episode.

       The next episode introduced the character Undyne quickly decided was her favorite of the bunch—the new character was a brash human mage, a smart if cut throat girl that Undyne could respect. Plus she had red hair in a ponytail and a spear for a weapon—obviously, she was the best. And there was a bitching fight too. When it ended, she was eager to watch the next one.

       The next episode didn’t disappoint, with another twist that left her intrigued. As did the next, as did the next. Soon enough, she realized she had the show more than half finished, the entire plot was in stunningly wonderful chaos, and her eyelids didn’t want to stay open. She grimaced at the time on the laptop before glancing up at Alphys. When she looked up, she was just in time to see Alphys knock back a Sea Tea like no one’s business before chucking the bottle over her shoulder.

       _Well, she’s not going to go to sleep anytime soon._ Usually, Undyne would try to get up and convince her girlfriend to come to bed, but considering she had no idea how important the computer had been, she decided that for once, work might have actually needed to override sleep. Rather than distract her by calling out goodnight, Undyne shrugged and rolled over so that the light wouldn’t bother her.

       As she settled into sleep, an idle thought shook her back to near total wakefulness. Sometime during those episodes, the cloud of distant apathy had lifted. Sometime during watching those characters struggle to live, to win in an unforgiving and relentless world, she found herself caring enough to want to watch on. For a bit there, she’d forgotten what a fucked up place the world still was.

       Huh. Maybe that was why Alphys had such a strange series on her computer. Maybe it was to help distract people from the world at large. God, her girlfriend was smart.

 

 

 

 

       She woke up hours later to the loud snores coming from beyond the bed. It was a familiar enough sound that she just sat up, barely blinking, stood, and started heading towards the desk. Alphys was asleep, head lolled back in one of the most uncomfortable positions Undyne could imagine. How many times had she woke up and found a similar scene? Still, the computer before her seemed to be up and running some program, so she must have gotten it mostly fixed.

       Again, her girlfriend was a genius.

       Without a word, she reached down scooped Alphys up into her arms. She walked back to the bed and slid the scientist’s sleeping form under the sheets. Tucking the blanket over her, Undyne straightened and paused to look over at a clock on some machine’s digital interface. She had a few hours before her work began—usually, she just went home at this time, to go get ready for her day.

       Looking at the clock, Undyne frowned and shifted her weight from foot to foot as she thought. She could go back home—get ready, shower, train, eat, whatever—and then she could go to work, patrolling the mostly deserted Underground and checking in with her surprisingly mellowed out boss. The job wasn’t what had been before—there were no raids to break up would-be dissenters or mouthy policy changing advocates, to wading into riots that started because some idiot started a blood feud. With monsters leaving in a hurry, there were less people raring to fight, not that many had been in the weeks and months before this, but those that had been mellowed out were the ones leaving. That left the angry and the stubborn who had _liked_ ‘kill or be killed’ way beyond just being passionate. And what a joy it’d be to go out there today, with a target painted on her back for the death from last night. _Yippy skippy_ , she drawled mentally.

       Or. She could take a sick day and sit around the lab, bugging Alphys. And watch more of the show. Undyne perked up at the thought—the last episode had ended on a dozy of a cliffhanger. And it’d fill the time until Alphys woke up. She plopped down onto the floor and then reached for the laptop, letting her back thump against the side of the bed as she settled in to watch.

       The next few episodes passed in a blur, the characters spiraling down into bad decisions and heartache as they tried to save themselves and each other. By the end of it, people were dead, others traumatized, and Undyne had to pause one episode to wonder if the mascot being such a vile creature was a jab at monsters or a jab at humans for being so goddamn gullible. She wasn’t sure, but she knew without a doubt that bunny cat mascot critter was a real asshole.

       The last episodes were gut punch after gut punch. The first two episodes of the final three made her pause to remember to take a few breaths—finally the mysterious transfer student got character development and it was soul rending. She went from being a standoffish but interesting character to downright heartbreaking. A devoted solider, trapped in an endless cycle of death and despair, with only the thinnest of hopes, and yet she pushed on. Fear and devotion gave way to cold apathy, but still she refused to give in. No matter how grim and dire, she found the will to get back up again, even if only pain and suffering remained.

       Fuck; that one drove a little close to home. If she paused to swipe at her one good eye, well, at least no one was awake to see it.

       And then the finale. Admittedly, it should have felt like an anticlimax—the lead finally made their big decision and made her choice and then… The fallout, really. All transfer student’s hard work paid off, just… not exactly in the way Undyne had been hoping for. As the episode went on, she couldn’t find herself hating it. In spite of the darkness of the world around them, the characters still chose to believe in hope, the transfer student even ending the episode with her resolve restored as she fought on.

       The end of the series felt—well, it felt odd. Undyne let the computer sit between her knees and stared up at the ceiling. It’d been a hell of a ride and she felt like she needed the breather. She felt like she was hollowed out—not in the usually hollow feeling she got when her hope dipped, but emptied out like she reached some catharsis—like back months ago, when she’d spared Frisk only for them to turn around and break the barrier, just as they said they would. Standing outside the mountain, she’d felt freed and emptied of so much she’d been carried before—this was a little like that. Not nearly on the same magnitude, but the familiarity was enough to make her chest a little tight.

       So much for thinking Alphys had gotten the videos for torture—maybe this was what she kept it around for? Damn, her girlfriend had good taste.

       “Wonder what else is there?” she murmured, looking at the other files in the folder. She’d just started up one of the movies when Alphys began to shift around on the bed above her. She paused the video and looked up in time to see Alphys lift her head to blearily stare at the light from the laptop. _Shit, it must be a lot later than I thought if she’s awake. I’m going to have to call in soon._ “Morning, Al.”

       Alphys jerked upright, or rather, tried to. “Undy-!” She tried to shout, but when she shoved her arms against the bed to shove herself up, her arm caught on a fold of her sleeve, so while her body went up, her sweater stayed down. The garment stopped her and then yanked her back down so she flopped onto the bed with an ungraceful yelp.

       Undyne grinned, shoving the laptop away so she could reach back and help her girlfriend untangle herself from her sweater. Damn. She really did have a cute girlfriend. “Easy there, Al. I’m glad to see you up and atta ‘em so fast, but try not to hurt yourself doing it. There are way too many shit heads in the Underground that are willing to do that, no need to go and do it for them.”

       “I’m f-fine,” Alphys mumbled, finally sitting up once she was freed, her face an interesting pink-orange color. (Salmon colored maybe? Undyne wasn’t really an art girl, but salmon sounded right.) “I just—I just thought that you, you’d maybe, um-!”

       Undyne raised an eyebrow at her. “Be gone to work?”

       Alphys nodded.

       “I thought about it, but staying here sounded like a better idea,” she shrugged. “I’d be a sitting duck today. And mostly I’d get to hang around with you.”

       There—Alphys made the best flustered noises. In a world where shitty things could happen at any moment, it was easy to forget how fucked up the world was when cute girls blushed and went all flustered. “H-h-how are you feeling this morning?”

       Her mouth twitched upward at the clumsy evasion, but she decided to humor her. She opened her mouth to say “like shit” but then she had to pause. As she sat there and thought about it, it wasn’t so much that she felt perfectly fine or that she felt like she was dying. The fact was that she felt anything at all—the soul numbing apathy from the night before had receded some hours ago already. Perhaps before she’d even gone to sleep, but definitely after she’d woken up at least. Surprised, she glanced up at her fixated girlfriend. “Better.”

       “Better?”

       “Yeah, like…” Like she wasn’t trapped in a cycle again, like wasn’t doomed to ‘kill or be killed’ still. “Like I can breathe again.”

       Alphys frowned, pursing her mouth. “D-do you mind if I take some readings?”

       Undyne shrugged and handed the computer up so her girlfriend could scramble about and wire her up again.

       As she was applying the last sensor, Alphys turned to get the diagnostic programs running on her computer. “What were you doing while I was asleep? D-did you find something to watch?”

       “Mmm, yeah. That Latin one, with the girl warriors.”

       Alphys paused her typing to frown at her. “Latin one? With girl warriors?”

       “Yeah, it’s got a long title.”

       She sat back and let her programs run, still frowning thoughtfully. “Latin one... Was it a documentary?”

       “No, it was a cartoon.”

       Alphys promptly froze. “A cartoon?”

       “Yeah. Lead girl had pink hair, blue haired friend. Mysterious time traveling transfer student. Blonde mage who got her head chewed on? And badass spearwoman, my personal favorite.” She paused when she noticed the look on Alphys’ face. “…not ringing any bells?”

       Alphys stared for a moment, jaw flapping open, but then she jumped as her computer made a series of beeps and chimes. Quickly, Alphys turned her attention back to her screen and fell silent.

       Curious, Undyne craned her head around, but it was hard to get a good look at the screen from the angle she was. For a moment, she thought of just sitting there, but the she found that no, she really did want to know what it said. She got up onto her knees and got herself turned around so she could get a look. Alphys blinked at her for a moment then turned to show her the readouts; like she thought, she couldn’t make heads nor tails of the graphs. “So, uh, what’s it all mean?”

       “It, uh, means you’re doing good. W-well, better. Than last night at least. Your hope’s stabilized and it even went back up a bit. Which is really great!”

       Undyne blinked, brows going up high. “Huh. Awesome. How’d that happen?”

       “I, um. Was hoping you could tell me?” At Undyne’s thoughtful frown, she hurried on. “N-not that that’s a problem if you can’t! It’d just, um, help—low hope, that’s, you know, a p-problem all around. You know?”

       “Yeah, I do,” she murmured, slumping against the bed as she thought. “Hmm. I didn’t really _do_ anything out of the ordinary? I mean, I watched that show, but it’s not like I haven’t watched other shows while I was here.” She paused, thinking about until she turned to Alphys with a grin. “Although, admittedly, that was a pretty awesome show.”

       Alphys blinked slowly. “Undyne, can you just show me what show you’re talking about?”

       With a shrug, Undyne took the computer back and hunted through the folders until she found the “Human Histories” folder again and then find the show again. She handed it back once she started up the first episode again. “Here, this one.”

       Alphys took the computer back and stared at the screen blankly for a few moments before she finally blanched and looked back at Undyne. “T-this one?!”

       Undyne blinked. “Um. Yeah, that’s it. Why what’s wrong with it?”

       “I—nothing!” she squeaked. “It’s just…”

       “What? I liked it. It had badass heroines, fights, dangerous adventures. Rescues, miracles. And the characters all kicked ass too!” She grinned at the memory of it all. “Come on, you can’t think it’s bad.”

       “N-no, it’s not that,” she stammered looking from her girlfriend to the screen repeatedly. “It’s just, I thought it’d… well…” She chewed on her lip. “I didn’t think you’d like anime.”

       Undyne scrunched her face at that. “What’s that? The folder says ‘Human Histories’.”

       “I—well, that’s mostly there so people don’t, like, poke around in there? You know what I mean.”

       She paused. “So, does that mean that anime isn’t real?”

       Alphys opened her mouth, paused, and then shut it with a frown. “H-honestly? A little bit ago, I would have said no. But all things considered, I think some of them are? At least a little bit? Or maybe they’re just closer to the truth than they thought.”

       “Really? Sweet.” She sat back down, grinning up at her girlfriend. “Hey, so, you got anymore good ones? I’d been thinking of watching the movies, but I wasn’t sure where to start from there.”

       “Ugh, the movies. Well, the first two movies are just a recap of the series. The third movie is the one that gets interesting. Here, I can—oh wait.” She paused. “Um, were you planning on going in work today, or were you… do you want to, maybe-”

       “I want to spend today with you,” Undyne answered bluntly, grinning as Alphys’ cheeks darkened. “If that’s fine with you.”

       “It’s great!”

       _What a babe. She really is the best._ “Okay then, I’m staying. Let me just call it in with Asgore—and give Papyrus a call. He was expecting training today.”

       “Okay,” Alphys chirped and then wriggled to the far end of the bed so Undyne could join her on the bed.

       After the calls, the two sandwiched themselves together on the bed and watched the movie. As per usual, Alphys talked through a great chunk of the film or spent more time watch Undyne’s face for her reactions instead of watching the film herself. Realistically, Undyne knew she should have found the constant interruptions to be annoying—she missed portions of the film and had to rewind a lot—but at the same time, Alphys looked like she was having so much fun, Undyne couldn’t find it in her to begrudge the scientist for it.

       The movie had been over for twenty minutes and she was still sitting on the bed, watching Alphys gabbing away. This was what she loved about Alphys—she was also so passionate about stuff. To be fair, sometimes that had more to do with the fact that Alphys was a little awkward and was prone to chatting when nervous, but she was still so _smart_ and cute and persistent and…

       _God. I want every morning to be like this. I want to wake up each morning with her at my side. I want to sit in bed and watch movies and then listen to her jabber away about them. I want to watch her fix things until late into the night, or make brand new things._

_I want to come home to her every night, even if she does hem and haw over my health all the time. I want it._

Abruptly, she realized Alphys had stopped talking and was now sitting next to her, squirming.

       “So, u-um. Wh… what do you think?”

       Undyne grinned. “I thought it rocked.”

       Alphys beamed. “Right? People might whine that the movie ruins Homura’s characterization, but I think it’s totally the only logical place to end her arc. After everything, it’s the only way for her wish to really be fulfilled, since it wasn’t really by the end of the series. I mean, yeah, you can argue the spirit of it was, but that’s just not how Kyuubey works, so really, it makes more… um. D-did I say something weird? I-is there something on my face?”

       Undyne had to chuckle. “No, I was just thinking.”

       “Thinking about what?”

       Undyne paused and then had to grin again. Let it never be said that Undyne was nothing if not implusive. “Hey, Al, when we all finally leave here, when you and me leave the Undergound, do you want to move in together?”

       Alphys stared for a moment, face blank before her eyes suddenly went impossibly wide. Then her face began to burn a bright red. “Oh my god.” She blinked. “Oh, _my god.”_

       “Is… that a no?”

       “No!” she gasped, flailing about. “No, I mean yes! I mean—yes, I want to move in with you! It’s just—oh my god.”

       “Well, as long as it’s a yes,” she giggled, her chest feeling tight as she pulled Alphys against her side. She pressed a kiss to Alphys’ temple as the scientist gripped her face.

       “Oh my god,” she whispered again.

       Undyne only laughed and kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kids, don't surprise your significant other with a marriage proposal, but if you're going to do that, at least do it in private. Also, probably don't impulsively propose, especially after a depressed episode--but then, I'm going to cut Undyne some slack seeing as this is the woman who is so impulsive she burnt her house down in canon because she got carried away cooking. (Also, monster biology as compared to human--not quite the same thing.)
> 
> Quite a few people have asked for more Alphyne, and I do live to serve. (No, not literally, but Alphyne is a delight.)
> 
> Also, since I've gotten some requests lately for specifically non-canon to this series, I've been thinking of making a separate story to keep them from getting confusing. What do any of you think? Should I make another story specifically for them, or should I just post them to this one?


	25. Take Delight

            Sunrise was Asriel’s favorite time of day. The day the Barrier came down, when he and everyone else took the first steps out of the Underground, together, they walked out into the golden light of dawn. While a certain unwelcome person swiftly ruined the mood by trying to steal Frisk away, for a moment, the whole world was gold and beautiful and Asriel loved it.

            After that, he would often find himself awake early. When he managed to wake up before dawn, he’d hurry out of the Underground exit to go sit on the ledge of path. He’d watch with a tight throat as the sun crept out of the murky shadows of morning, the first rays spilling out around the far mountains, reaching for him and the mountains across the valley. The shadows hid the village below, the unsightly outline looking mountain-like enough that it wasn’t such an eyesore.

            Dawn slipped away quickly and usually Papyrus or Frisk would walk out of the Underground and gently scold him for not warning someone before leaving. If it was Papyrus, he might convince his guard to join him for the last of the view before sun completely rose. If it was Frisk, they’d tut and shuffle him back inside. But that was alright as well, because if they hurried out of the castle, he could stand outside and watch as the early morning light spilled into the city from the hole in the top of the mountain, the light brightening the city like a second dawn.

            Even as he grew older, he would rise each morning before the sun crept out and would then watch it as it turned the world to gold. In this fresh landscape, his nightmares dried up like the mists rising from the ground; here in the light of dawn, he had survived. He’d smile softly as Chara woke a little less eagerly in the back of his brain.

            “Good morning, Chara,” he whispered, gaze still pointed out of the window.

            ***You fool. There is nothing good about mornings.**

            He chuckled, his lips stretching wide over his teeth as he grinned. “How about chocolate donuts for breakfast?”

            ***Well. Perhaps there is one good thing about mornings.**

 

 

 

            The first time Papyrus heard thunder in New Home, he nearly chucked a bone spear out the window in surprise. He had to pause and take a breath, scolding himself mentally as he did so. Just because he’d been living in Snowdin for years, that didn’t mean he should have forgotten what thunder sounded like.

            Taking a moment, he paused and walked to the kitchen window. Rain rarely fell onto the Ambassador’s House because of how far it was from the hole in the mountain, so his view was clear. The rain was falling in thick sheets just down the street, but from his vantage point, it looked like a dark wall of water was pouring down. Gazing up at the hole in the mountain, he saw a flash of light, followed by the crash of the thunder—it was the first time he’d seen lightning in years.

            _If I were to go to the Exit right now, I could probably get a truly great view,_ he thought and that was the moment when the intense desire to escape the Underground really hit him. Before, the thought of leaving had seemed so far off that he’d hardly thought about it at all until he’d walked out of Exit with everyone else. Even then, he’d only had a few moments to enjoy the world outside before he and Sans had to go running back in to help Frisk. Before, he’d only thought of surviving, of keeping Sans alive, of getting into the Guard, getting out of Snowdin. But now, looking at the torrents of rain, he felt the urge to leave again, to escape and… and he wasn’t sure what. Dance in the rain perhaps? He wasn’t a dancer, but he would make an exception, he thought.

            The desire returned with each storm that came to the mountain. When they finally left the Underground, the start of the exodus of monsters to the Surface, a storm rocked the human city that night. Asriel had been nervous and mumbled about the thunder hurting his ears until Chara took over and went to bed. Sans and Frisk, both exhausted from the move, curled up on the couch and slept through the whole thing. Papyrus sat aside the boxes he’d been unpacking to curl up in a window, Doom Fanger purring loudly in his lap as he petted him.

            When one loud blast of thunder rattled the house, he paused and listened as there was a thump upstairs followed by a quick tattoo of thuds until Asriel appeared at the top of the stairs. He froze at the sight of Papyrus looking up at him, breathing heavily.

            “My prince? Is there a problem?”

            “D… did the house get struck by lightning?” he asked, voice shaking.

            Papyrus considered it, trying to remember what Frisk had said being in a house while it was struck with lightning was like. “I don’t think so. We didn’t lose power. I don’t think the lights even flickered.”

            Asriel’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, good. My room shook so, I, um.”

            “It shook down here, too,” he offered. After a year of looking after the princes, he knew enough to guess what his charge might be wanting. “I suppose you can’t sleep now. Would you like to come join me? Doom Fanger wants affection and I could use your assistance.”

            That made the prince perk up. Quickly, he scrambled down the stairs, pausing to giggle at Frisk and Sans sprawled haphazardly on the couch, and then tiptoed over to Papyrus. He sat down and started to pet the lazy cat in Papyrus’s grasp. He was just starting to look peaceful and happy when another clap of thunder made him jump, startling the cat. Papyrus had to soothe the beast; meanwhile, Asriel sat back and sighed. “Stupid storm.”

            “The thunder is only a noise, my prince,” he replied, scratching behind Doom Fanger’s ear until he purred once more. “It’s nothing to fear, not that the cats would know that. I have made sure that this house is perfectly secure, and Frisk assures me that as long as we’re careful around electric appliances, such a storm as this can’t hurt us.”

            “I know that,” he mumbled. “It’s just really loud.”

            “It is. But I doubt it will last for much longer. I have done extensive research and I have learned that storms like this one rarely last for long here on the Surface.” By extensive research, he meant he looked on the internet, gave up, and just asked Frisk who was always much more succinct and clear about such things. Still, Frisk hadn’t steered him wrong before, so he was confident.

            Asriel stared up at him quietly for a moment, but then he blinked his eyes and when they opened, it was Chara staring out. “You do not seem to be bothered by the storm.”

            He nodded, both as an answer and as a greeting. “I find that I’m actually quite fond of storms. They’re a wild, untamable force of nature, full of spectacular sights. They’d make for an excellent backdrop to a battle, should one happen.”

            Chara smiled. “Unstoppable and spectacular does sound very much like you.”

            He beamed. “Yes, I suppose it _is_ apt description!”

            On the couch, Sans twitched hard, making Frisk grumble and shift until they fell lopsidedly against him. Papyrus and Chara watched as gravity slowly forced the two occupants to slump over sideways. While Frisk quickly curled up into a more comfortable position, Sans was left grimacing in his sleep at his awkward position.

            Papyrus snorted at the pair and Chara shook their head. “If you don’t mind,” Chara began, voice soft. “May I watch the storm with you?”

            “Certainly, your highness,” Papyrus answered. “I’d be more than happy for your company.” As if to prove his point for him, Doom Fanger chose that moment to slide out of his lap and crawl into Chara’s, who quickly began to pet the cat. Amused, he gave the cat one last pat before turning back to the window.

 

 

 

 

            It was funny to Chara that while sunrise might have been the view of the skies that Asriel loved best, it was sunset that they preferred. As the sun set, the world seemed to slow down and grow quiet. Noisy humans and monsters alike crept back to their homes and prepared themselves to relax and rest. People didn’t care about the beauty going on outside their homes, but Chara loved every moment. The long decline of the sun as the sky grew bruised then dark, the clouds catching fire in every shade of blue, red, yellow, pink, orange, and purple until they at last wore outlines of gold. Every sunset was different, no two the same. There was something to the idea that no matter how old they lived to be that the sunset would always change.

            Looking at it, the colors set their mind alight, but nothing they ever did seem to capture the beauty of those moments as the sun vanished. Drawing it never worked—they could never get the shapes of the clouds and trees just right, the light shifting so swiftly that they could never get the shadows done in time. Trying photography didn’t help either—the camera lenses never seemed to get the correct color, always seeming to skew too yellow or black to really capture the beauty.

            “They’re fine pictures,” Papyrus told them, clasping their shoulder—unlike Asriel, Papyrus tried to be more careful with Chara, partially because he tried to be gentler with humans. The other part was because if he ever tried to clap Chara’s back, he tended to knock the unsteady child down.

            Chara frowned and reached for one of the photos. “The camera never does it justice. Just another failure.”

            Papyrus jerked the photos farther from their reach. “Nonsense! If you don’t like these photos, then I will keep them. They’re very good. I should know—I have excellent taste in these things.”

            Chara gaped, fingers still twitching to grab the pictures, but now their face was burning beneath the fur and how could they refuse him? They mumbled something and before they knew it, their pictures ended up on the fridge or in picture frames. Some ended up in Frisk’s room, some ended up in Asgore and Toriel’s homes, but most were in Papyrus’s rooms, lining the walls next to his own items. They always averted their gaze from the photo frames and magnets, but at the same time, they found themselves smiling.

            Looking out the window, they found the world was growing dark again. Always, they moved to watch it. As years go by, as they age, as they found themselves growing more alone each year as friends vanished in time, the setting sun would always be there, showing off its own beautiful displays, never the same as it was before. Even when photos yellowed and crumbled off walls and from frames, the sunset remained as beautiful as ever.

 

 

 

 

            “Come with me,” Frisk whispered, tugging him awake and goddamnit it was three in the morning, what could possibly be so important to wake him up now? But Sans let them tug and cajole him out of bed, and then out towards the balcony. He shuddered as soon as he stepped out into the Alaskan air—it was late spring, but there was still a chill.

            At first he only blinked sleepily at the countryside—it was a beautiful place, the snow still melting slowly. Then he sighed and grumbled. “Babe, just what the hell is it that I’m supposed to-?”

            Their hand pressed against his chin, gently pointing his face upward, and his words died in his mouth. Above him, the sky was a flashing, dancing light show of colors. His eyes grow wide as lights snaked high above, shifting and surging, blotting out the stars at points.

            “Oh,” he managed, because what else could he say.

            “Oh indeed,” they teased. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss this.”

            “I wouldn’t,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

            They stood in silence, watching the aurora above, but slowly, a chill crept into his bones. His joints began to shake and his teeth wanted to rattle, but he couldn’t bring himself to head back inside and get his coat. Just as he heard his teeth try to clatter, a pair of warm arms, swaddled in a blanket, slipped around his shoulders.

            Frisk tucked their head against his neck and murmured. “Here. I’ll keep you warm.”

            He was grateful and reached up to tuck his hands into the folds of the blanket. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. “So,” he finally managed. “Is this the best view of the sky you know, or what?”

            They were quiet for a moment, so he waited, but when they spoke, he finally found himself looking away. “No,” they spoke, voice very soft. “I know one better. It’s just…”

            “Just what?”

            Frisk sighed, not of sorrow or relief, but of quiet confusion. “I think this one’s someone else’s.”

            He blinked and realized _whom_ they meant. He found their hand in the folds of the blanket and gave it a squeeze. “They, uh—they get a message to you or-?”

            “No, nothing like that,” they explained, turning their face back to the sky. “I just… feel something… powerful, looking at it. Like a deep peace that I know doesn’t come from me, at least.”

            They both fell quiet, because honestly, what can one say to that? Finally, he found his voice again. “So, you know some place with an even better view than this, huh?”

            They paused and glanced at him, eyes glittering in the darkness. “Would you like to see it?”

            His grin only widened. “Babe, how could I not?”

 

 

 

 

            Frisk’s secret destination for the best view in the world was even more surprising than Sans thought in the first place. First, they claimed that the view was the best only for a very short time of the year, the best time being in February. Secondly, it was in some place in South America—Sans immediately forgot which country it was. All he knew was that Frisk had to speak for the two of them and even then, their Spanish and the locals didn’t quite match up sometimes, so more than once Frisk had resorted to shouting the same thing over and over and gesticulating wildly. (How that helped the locals understand, he’d never know, but somehow it worked.)

            He was certain of one thing: it was goddamn cold when they arrived in the jeep they rented. He resented having to give up the warmth of the vehicle, but when he stepped outside, he was momentarily silenced.

            A few feet before him, pale earth gave way to a vast nothing of blue. It looked as though the sky had melted onto the ground, absorbing the horizon aside from a few islands of rocky outcroppings. The only thing to mar the illusion was a solitary cloud hanging overhead, reflecting down into the water below.

            “This whole place is a giant salt flat,” Frisk announced, walking over to him from around the jeep. When he turned to them, they smiled and offered him half of a sandwich. While he claimed his half, they took a bite of their half and turned back to the vista before them. “It floods this time of year because of the rains flooding some of the lakes up here.”

            “I can’t tell where the sky ends,” he admitted, letting awe slip into his voice. It was hard to grasp—for some reason, he could almost imagine a place like this back in the Underground. The waters of Waterfall might have been still enough in places, but magic in the water turned it luminescent and cloudy, and certainly there’d been no lake big enough to compare to this. And yet, the land held a kind of majesty that was almost magical in nature.

            “It’s a great view,” they agreed, but he could hear the smile in their voice. When he looks at them, Frisk smiled. “But it’s not the best part.”

            Oh, so now they were feeling playful with a secret. That usually meant a generally good surprise—or at least not a malicious one, and that was good enough for him. “And where is the best part?”

            They were grinning wildly now. “Not where. _When.”_ They wouldn’t explain more after that, but they made him hike out with them deep into the flooded plain. They found an island and hunkered down for a while; Frisk let him sleep, buried deep into a sleeping bag despite only being in the middle of the afternoon.

            Hours passed and he woke up to Frisk shaking him insistently. He couldn’t shake them off since he was tucked so securely in so he had to force his way out to stop them, but once he freed his upper body, they pointed upward. Instinctually, he looked upwards and his breath escaped him in one big _whoosh_.

            He hadn’t seen stars like this since Alaska nearly a year before then and even then they hadn’t gone that far from the city lights. It was dark now, but above the sky was liberally spangled with stars, their unfamiliar constellations giving him a tiny thrill as he scrambled to recall them.

            Frisk distracted him for a moment by tugging him the rest of the way free from the sleeping bag and then tugging on his arms. “Come on,” they insisted when he mumbled something about not wanting to abandon his perch on the rocks. “It’ll be fine,” they continued when he muttered about losing the sleeping bag, but honestly he was so caught up in looking up that he hardly noticed as they led him farther out into the water.

            “Okay,” they said at last after a long walk. “Look down.”

            It was almost impossible to obey; all he wanted to do is keep staring at those stars, the impossible number of them all, but then he looked down and his breath left him again. Below him, the still waters didn’t look like water at all. Instead, he looked as though he was suspended in space. The stars reflected clearly in the water below, not so much like the sky had swallowed a chunk of the Earth, but more that he was not on Earth at all. Looking around, at the endless stretch of stars below and above, he felt as though he was in the depths of space. Nothing, not even himself felt important now—he was lost to the vast fullness of space, of the yawning stretch between stars, not like some astronaut but some deep space alien that could walk freely between stars. He was not some fragile skeleton—he was some star child, as free as the stars themselves.

            “Fuck,” he whispered, torn between looking up and looking down, lost in the sea of stars and its reflection.

            “You see,” Frisk murmured, startling him. When he looked up, their gaze was also facing up to the sky. Looking at them, he had to wonder if he looked as lost in thought as they were. They didn’t look of this planet either; they looked like some celestial being, pausing on some journey between worlds, who stopped only to admire the view.

            “It’s really something,” he managed, chest tight.

            They didn’t seem to notice him staring yet; they were too caught up in their viewing. “There’s just something about this place that you can’t find anywhere else.”

            Looking at them, he felt that faint pull—that vague notion in the back of his mind that there was some context he was missing. He considered it and just decided to ask them outright—it was usually the best way to get an answer out of them when it came to this sort of thing. “Frisk, how did you even find this place?”

            They smiled faintly but still didn’t turn to look. “You remember that year I took off and ran wild.”

            “Ran away from home, yeah.”

            They nodded. “This place, or rather the same place in that world—I was with some people in Oruro, I forget what for. Someone told us about this place. The rest of the group wasn’t interested, but I decided to go see it for myself. When I got here, it was still the middle of the day. I spent the entire day just wandering around. But then, when night fell…” They paused, smiling ruefully. “Well, just look around.”

            He waited, patient.

            “It’s beautiful,” they whispered. “It’s just so… big and… And overwhelming.” They chuckled. “This place, it was just so much to take in.” They paused, mirth draining from their face. “And then it happened.” They fell quiet, but he was too afraid to interrupt them just yet. At last, they spoke. “A thought just popped into my head. I thought ‘god, Sans would probably like this place’.”

            He blinked, chest tight for a new reason now.

            “It’s funny. But that was the first time in a year that I thought of him and it didn’t hurt.” They looked rueful again. “That’s when I knew it was time to come home, that I’d be okay if I did. That the feeling of missing home was now stronger than the urge to stay away, I guess. So, after that, I found where dad was at for a conference and went there to see him. Because I knew he’d take me home before I could chicken out of it.” Their smile turned softer, more serene. “There was something about this place. It made it easier to think. Like it was putting things in perspective for me.”

            He cocked his head to the side, because he could see it too now. “It’s easy to get perspective when you aren’t even on the same planet anymore.”

            That made them look at him and suddenly he remembered back to the night they left the Underground, to sit beneath the stars. The night they told him about their own world, about a terrible blow dealt to them by their friend. They’d looked so lost and young, staring into the past, for a moment that he couldn’t help but reach out to comfort them.

            Here, now, staring at him and really seeing him, he couldn’t help but think that they looked found.

            They smiled. “Exactly.”

            For a moment, the two shared a silence as they looked back to the stars, below and above. After a while, Frisk finally chuckled and turned to him.

            “So. Is _this_ best view you’ve ever seen or what?”

            He smiled, idly. It was perhaps one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen or experienced in his life, but that sounded a little too real, so he kept it to himself. Instead, he chuckled back. “You know, it just might be.” He paused, thinking about it. “It might be my favorite too.”

            “I’m glad,” they said simply, slipping their hand into his as they took a step closer, leaning up against them as they looked to the sky.

            It took him some time, but a question began to burn until he finally had to ask. “Did you ever show this place to that world’s Sans?”

            They sighed. “No, never. I mean, I always meant to, but I still didn’t, you know, feel comfortable with the idea of spending a long enough time with him to bring him here. I always thought that maybe I’d do it after we reconciled.” They fell silent for a moment. “I wonder if that world’s me will ever take him to see it.”

            Part of him just wanted to say _fuck that guy, he doesn’t deserve to see a cool place like this_ but he knew that Frisk wouldn’t appreciate it, so he kept it to himself. Instead, he tried a different truth. “Well, I’m enjoying it.”

            “Good,” they murmured, voice soft. After that, there was nothing else to say. Together the two of them stood there, gazing up at the unending skies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is an admittedly obtuse reference to the old phrase "red sky at night, sailor's delight", but once I thought of it, it stuck. This chapter was a request from kawaiiloverq. Honestly, I'm not sure this is what they had in mind when they requested it, but it's where my brain wanted to go, so that's where I went.


	26. Dining among Friends

**I have arrived~ <3**

Frisk smiled down at their phone—Mettaton _would_ add hearts to his texts—and looked up in time to see the front door of the restaurant open, a bell chiming prettily as a figure stepped in. Despite the heavy, dramatic hooded coat he was wearing, Mettaton didn’t do stealth very well—partially because the big coat was trying to be both concealing and seductively half off, and only fulfilling one of those things. Frisk couldn’t find it in them to be surprised though; Mettaton was Mettaton even in this world.

            At least he kept his face mostly obscured as a waiter led him back to the private room Frisk had managed to book, not that it stopped half the other diners from turning to stare at him. The rest had dignity enough to keep their stares discreet, but Mettaton towered over human heads when he was barefoot, never mind when he wore shoes that gave him six extra inches so he could stare Toriel dead in the eyes if he wanted.

            Well, at least he made his shoulders smaller—it was hard to hide your identity if your shoulders were nearly four feet across and pointy enough to put someone’s eye out if you weren’t careful.

            The moment the waiter led him through the door, his confident swagger was replaced by instant delighted energy. “Frisk, darling!” he laughed, shucking his coat off and hurling it at the waiter who only barely managed to catch it in time.

            “Mettaton,” Frisk called back, grinning as they stood. They barely got halfway around the table before Mettaton descended upon them, scooping them up in a hug and lifting them up into the air, four arms wrapped tightly around them. The extra appendages were odd, but they felt secure enough with the extra support. “It is such a delight to see you again.”

            “Likewise, darling, likewise,” he hummed as he gave them one last squeeze and finally sat them back down. “Oh, it’s been too long.”

            “Six months,” Frisk nodded. “I was beginning to think you’d gone and forgotten about us back here.”

            “Never!” He sighed. “I just didn’t imagine how busy and exhausted I’d be.” He scrunched up his nose—Alphys had done some good work on his new face, adding in a lot of little details like that. Really, they should have congratulated her more on it. “Or how hard it’d be to actually get a signal through in some places.”

            Frisk laughed and kept their smile playful, to let him see that they were only teasing as they went on. “Ah, now that I can understand.” They started to speak before realizing the waiter was still there. After he asked if they would like to order something, they quickly looked over the menu before picking something—Mettaton was choosier, but once he decided, they both quickly fell back into their conversation as the waiter left. “But still, with only three calls, we were all left lonesome. I’ll have you know that your tv hiatus is killing some of us in our house.”

             Mettaton beamed. “At least that’s coming to an end. But how _are_ all of you doing?”

            “Besides being brokenhearted by your absence? Fine. Everyone’s enjoying all the sunshine for one. Asriel and Chara will be transferring to their mother’s new school in September, which is fantastic because they’ll be far away from their last teacher.” Frisk shook their head.

            “The nightmare one? The one that kept trying to make a fuss about you?”

            “That’d be the one.”

            Mettaton scoffed. “If only I could have done an exposé on that school—oh, I would have fixed them for sure!” He sighed. “I wish I could have had more time before the season ran out.”

            Frisk only smiled—at the time, they’d breathed a long sigh of relief once Mettaton realized he didn’t have time to ‘crack open that school’ to reveal its ‘dark anti-human prejudice’. One less hassle they had to deal with as deadlines loomed. Now they were happy because they knew that the moment some human journalist found it, it would have meant a month’s long headache. Still, they’d keep that to themselves. “Well, we don’t have to deal with them anymore, and that’s the important thing.” Nope, now they just had to deal with Toriel’s hovering as she tried desperately to restrain herself from brownnosing her way into her children’s school lives. Could be worse though—at least she _was_ restraining herself. “Sans and I have meeting in Chicago on Friday.”

            “Oh, Chicago. That place was fun. I had my fifth show there and the crowd just went wild, especially once I pulled out that chainsaw.”

            They had to laugh. “I remember that! You didn’t tell me you were an ice sculptor.”

            He waved them off. “Ugh, after Alphys first stuck me in that stupid body, I had to find _something_ useful to do with all that junk or I would have just gotten depressed.”

            “At least you put it to good use.”

            He smiled as he shrugged. “I tried. But never mind _that_. So, does this mean that the two of you’ll be flying out Thursday or do you just have to get there later on Friday?”

            “Ah, no,” Frisk answered, with a small smile. “You see, the first time Sans got on a plane, we were stuck in coach and he got sick as a dog.”

            “Oh dear,” he didn’t quite manage to hide the mirth in his voice. Frisk was never quite sure if Sans and Mettaton seemed to like or hate each other. One moment, they’d be quipping jokes at each other, the next they might start snidely sniping. At least they’d never tried to outright attack each other, but leaving the two in a room was always a risk. “I can’t do coach. I tried it once and I bashed a man’s face with my shoulder when I turned too fast.”

            Frisk winced. “I hope he was alright.”

            “Oh, he was. I even autographed his face as an apology!”

            That sounded about right. “Anyway, since then, plane rides make him queasy.”

            Mettaton pursed his lips. “You’re not _driving_ are you?”

            “We thought about it. I’ve told you, I spent time abroad before I turned twenty. I did a lot of driving then, so long drives don’t bother me. But I’m not _that_ fond of them, and neither is Sans. No, we’re going to take that fast train out of LA. It’ll take all night, but we’ll get to Chicago bright and early.”

            “Oh, I tried one of those, but not an overnight one.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Can’t he just teleport you two there?”

            “Well, technically he could. But the problem with teleporting is that if there’s anything standing in your way at the destination, there’s a chance you could splice yourself with it.”

            Mettaton winced. “Ouch.”

            “I’ve seen Sans do it a few times with some dirty laundry that was on the floor and let me tell you, it takes ages for him to get himself unspliced. And he’s just bone—I don’t know what would happen to me if I ran into something like that.”

            Now he shuddered. “Oh, forget that, it sounds awful. Ugh, just terrible.”

            Frisk giggled and fell silent, smiling across the table as Mettaton went from disturbed to eager. They watched, trying not to laugh as his interest grew until at last he sighed. “Yes?”

            “Oh, be that way. Making me come out and ask it _myself_ —anyway, how has my favorite skeleton been?”

            Frisk beamed. “I’m telling Papyrus you said that. He’ll be on cloud nine for a week.”

            Mettaton laughed. “Well, I’d hope he’d know it already. How could I think anything else of my first fan?”

            “How indeed. Well, despite the fact that he’s constantly checking the tv to see if there’s anything new from you on,” they began teasingly; Mettaton waved them off, a smirk stretching his lips. “He’s been doing well. Remember how I told you that he became something of a class hero for the kids’ classmates? He was a such a huge hit with all the kids that they still wave at him whenever he’s escorting the children anywhere, but yesterday he came home with six kids trailing behind him because he said he was going to try a new recipe for dinner and they wanted to watch him nearly burn the house down again.”

            Mettaton tried to stop the inelegant snort from escaping, but even as he clapped one pair of hands to his mouth, it was too late. The snort set off a string of giggles and Frisk had to grin at him. “Oh, my. Well, how was his, heh, show?”

            “Oh, spectacular, if you mean that there’s now a giant scorch mark on the ceiling of the kitchen. All the kids loved it though.”

            Mettaton beamed. “Well, Papyrus should know a thing or two about putting on a good show. After all, he’s watched my shows enough.”

            “He’s taken a few pointers from you, yes,” they drawled. “Mainly that fire is fantastic and you should always add more of it when cooking.”

             He shrugged, not looking even the littlest bit ashamed about it. “Yes, well, it’s not like I actually know how to cook. It was always supposed to be more of a comedy show, but he wasn’t the only one to take it seriously. I had a few of those television celebrity chefs come yell at me because some contestants of theirs tried to burn their kitchens down.”

            They barked a laugh, imaging the horror of the cast and crew as the people on the show created nightmares and headaches, along with some inedible crispy junk they would try to pass off as a meal. Hopefully, they wouldn’t go the extra mile and try and force others to eat their efforts, like Mettaton usually did on the show. Once their fit of giggles subsided, they grinned at him while he looked proud to have amused them so much. “But really, he’s dying to see you on tv again. He kept bugging me to try and wriggle it out of you.”

            He was all smiles. “Well, I couldn’t do it before, actually. My schedule was up in the air now that my tour’s done, so I wasn’t sure myself.”

            “And now?” they pressed on.

            He sat up, all prim and pleased as a well-fed cat. “I talked with some execs and it’s official. I’m going to be on syndicated human television and my show will be going live in two months. Before then I’ll have a special, but once the new season starts, I’m getting my own show.”

            “Really? Well, I know what’s going to be playing at our house on repeat until we all die.” When he snorted, they leaned in, all grins. “But seriously, what channel and what time, because if I don’t find that out, Papyrus will never forgive me.”

            He promptly told them the channel and then straightened up with a little shimmy. “Ten o’clock, weekdays. I’m going to be doing one of those evening talk show with some good old fashioned variety bits tossed in to give it flavor. I’m thinking maybe some neutered death runs that I used to host Underground—not that I’m going to let my beautiful human guests get hurt.”

            “Thank you for that.” Lord knows that it would end up being their headache if something actually went wrong.

            “But maybe a song and dance number too. Got to let everyone know that I have a wealth of talents. Helps keep interest high and maybe attract some movie roles.”

            “You mean aside from the six jobs I know you’re doing?”

            He looked at them slyly. “Don’t tell anyone, but it’s actually eight. No repeating that!”

            Frisk pressed a hand to their chest. “Not tell at least your favorite fan? Mettaton, I’d like to stay Papyrus’s friend. I live with the guy, I can’t have him hating me now.”

            He laughed. “One’s going to be a surprise for the general audiences, darling! The cast and crew were all sworn to secrecy. Believe you me, it’s been torture not talking about it to somebody.”

            “And the other one?”

            “Eh, something’s come up with the production. Nothing from my end, but the companies are squabbling over who gets what rights. I’m not sure it’ll see the light of day, but maybe they’ll start playing nice with each other. Until I hear something about it, I’ll keep it to myself. Don’t want to disappoint my own audience after all.”

            “That’s a shame,” they replied, making a sympathetic hum as they sat back. “Well, I can’t wait to see the show.”

            Mettaton was saved from replying when the waiter finally returned with their food. They took a moment to get their food from him before he vanished again. “It was about time,” Mettaton muttered, cutting into his steak. “Restaurants up here take forever to bring your food to you.” Before they could say anything, he went on. “Do you know that I was thinking of opening a restaurant? I mean, back before the Barrier came down. I’d been thinking of buying out those hideous housing projects in Hotland, next to the CORE. I thought about actually putting some time and effort into cleaning it up, making it not such an eyesore. Maybe make it into a violence free getaway place. People would have paid out the nose for that back then.”

            They paused, their fork hovering by their mouth. “And what stopped you?”

            “Ugh, the housing council were putting up this fuss about having to relocate the CORE workers who lived there. Not that they care about anyone else there, they just didn’t want to build more buildings elsewhere.” He looked thoughtful. “Although, I had almost talked them around. But then you showed up and we were all going to be leaving so soon and I was going to go on tour, so I shelved those plans.” He shrugged. “Best thing, really.  Oh, you should have seen how mad that council was once the Barrier came down and they realized them missed a fantastic deal in not selling it to me earlier.”

            “I’m sure they were delightfully furious, as they should have been for thwarting you.”

            He grinned, jabbing his fork in their direction before taking a bit. “That’s it, exactly! Serves them right. Oh, I hope that it burns them even now.”

            Frisk smiled, but let him have the moment before they spoke again. “So, what’s your special about? A live show?”

            He blinked at them. “Did I mention I have a special coming out?”

            “You did, yes.”

            To their surprise, he actually did look a little embarrassed. “Whoops. That’s also supposed to be under wraps too. I haven’t even gotten to film it yet. But, since I blurted it out anyway, might as well tell you. It’ll be an interview with a certain journalist who I think will be very impressed. It should be fun. Along with the basic things, we have some special ideas for bits we can do in between questions. It’ll sure to be exciting.”

             “Hah! When have you ever put out a show that was anything less than exciting?” They considered him. “Are you nervous about it?”

            “What? No! I’ve done plenty of interviews before. Hell, I’ve done plenty of my own.”

            “I remember,” they chuckled. “It’s how we met.”

            “That is true!” He paused. “It’s just. Well. This journalist… they tend to be very… thorough.”

            “Will… that be a problem?”

            He looked down at his food with a tense, contemplative look before shrugging and smiling. “Oh, probably not. Alphys and I were very careful when we set up my back story for the Overlord. As far as all monster kind knows, I’m a robot and I was created from gears and magic. You, her, and I might be the only people who actually know my origins. And it’s best it stays that way!”

            They watched as he sawed through his steak, the plate squealing in protest as he cut too hard. Considering their options, they decided to give him a moment before they tried to make a move of their own.

            It paid off—he immediately paused after he speared a tiny square and brought it to his lips. “Have you… happened to hear from any of the ghosts from the old snail farm?”

            _Ah._ They wished they were closer to him, so they could reach out and soothe him. Instead, they settled for setting their fork down and patting their mouth clean with a napkin. “The, uh, newly renamed Glad Dummy is doing well last I heard. He joined my tailor’s shop recently and has taken up residence in the front window.”

            Mettaton smiled wistfully. “How lovely that he’s living his dream. Good for him.”

            Frisk smiled playfully. “Great for him, but bad for my tailor. He didn’t hire the Dummy and now he likes to dance around in the window with the half-finished merchandise. My tailor’s afraid that people are going to think he sells unfinished clothes.”

            Startled, Mettaton snorted and had to clap a hand to his mouth. “Oh—well—that sounds very like him! And very much what he always wanted to do anyway. I’m sure he’s ecstatic.”

            Glad to see their friend happier, they went on, picking up their fork again to eat. “Now, let’s see. Ah, yes, the other Dummy got hired by Undyne recently to be her personally training dummy. She’s a little rough with them, but they seemed very happy for the attention.”

            “Ah, them,” he sighed, shaking his head fondly. “They were never very good with talking. That job suits them.”

            Frisk’s smile flickered as they came to the last cousin. Clearing their throat delicately, they took a bite of their food. “As for Napstablook, they’re much the same as ever. They’ve been holing up still in the Underground, but they keep insisting that they’re not bored or lonely down there. They’ve been working on some new songs. I talked to them about a week ago when I was down there, escorting some human scientists around. They're doing good, they say.”

            “That’s… good.” There’s something soft about Mettaton’s voice. Not timid or frightened or even angry. More like wistful or perhaps regretful.

            Frisk didn’t press—when they ran away when they were younger, Undyne took a year before she came around to them again. She was bitter and frustrated, and it hurt Frisk more than they had thought possible. While they had never considered her to be the closest of their friends, it wasn’t until they felt the full brunt of her anger and pain did they realize how much they had prized her. She had trained them daily as a child, taught them to fight and defend themselves, and always seemed to get them to laugh at her antics. They couldn’t blame her for her anger, even if they weren’t sure they really needed to apologize at the time. They had, afterward, but that was their own situation—Mettaton’s was inherently different from their own. And yet, they could empathize. Carefully, they reached out and rested their hand on top of one of his own, one of the lower set that had mostly been resting listlessly against the tabletop. It quickly twitched and grasped their hand in turn.

            “You know, it’s funny,” they began. “But while I was there, they had their television on. They said it was just for white noise as they worked, but the entire time, it was just repeats of your show. I didn’t know you’d left your station broadcasting your old shows down there.”

            He blinked at them before smiling softly down at his plate. “I didn’t.”

            “Ah,” they murmured, their own smile turning warmer. They gave his hand one last squeeze and sat back. “People are funny. Give them a little time and freedom to change and they’ll do so in the most unexpected of ways.”

            “Change is a good thing,” he replied, just as obtuse.

            The two of them shared a restful moment of silence, tuned to their own thoughts before Mettaton sat back, looking cheerful. “You should eat faster. I’m halfway done with mine and you’re eating like a bird over there. Eat more! Then we can get dessert.”

            Frisk chuckled and made a show of scooping up a larger helping than they had before then. “Ah, forgive me. But can you blame me when I have such pleasant company for discussion?”

            “Only the best,” Mettaton chirped.

            “Mm. You know, after dinner, you should come back with me. It’d be a delight to have you over.”

            “So bold,” he teased. “Whatever shall the papers say?”

            “’Daring human ambassador seduces handsome monster celebrity’, no doubt,” they quipped. “Oh, but really, you’d devastate your biggest fan if you didn’t just drop in for a moment.”

            “Perish the thought,” he said solemnly. “I accept.”

            “Papyrus won’t know what to do with himself.” Probably curse them later for not warning him so he could pick up the house. Eh, they’d send him a text in a few minutes, tell him something vague so they could at least say they’d warned him.

            “Eat faster.”

            “Ah, yes,” they grinned. “Dessert is waiting, no?”

            “Eat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's a chapter I've been meaning to do for awhile but only actually got around to finishing last night. Anyway, both Brainless Genius and helenamadsox requested a bit with Mettaton and Frisk. I've been wanting to do something with the robot for awhile, so I loved the idea. (He's only had a few passing mentions thus far.) He's so fun to write. Anyway the requests were for Mettaton and Frisk to have a dinner together where they would talk and Frisk would be supportive of him. How could I resist such a request?


	27. Homeward Bound

            In a place where Frisk stood with stars at their feet and above their head, they’d known that at last their desire to run home was greater than the urge to run away. They didn’t so much feel relief as they felt a bone deep ache, like having a rotten tooth pulled—sure, the source of the pain was gone, but there was still an awkward hole where it’d been before. They wondered if that emptiness would ever vanish.

            But they also had another problem. One month later and they were still wandering around South America, puttering around now—the urge to run was slowly burning out, but that phantom itch still tried to twitch every now and then. They were fairly certain they could control it now; if they headed home by nightfall, they’d have it in hand long before they ever shadowed their mother’s door. That wasn’t the problem—the problem was the awkwardness that was sure to follow. They realized now that they’d missed a gold opportunity back when Mettaton had spotted them at one of his shows and then forced them backstage to talk with Papyrus and call home. Back then, if they’d gone home, Papyrus probably would have run interference without them asking, doing it accidentally as he’d soak up the attention for himself. He was very handy like that. Back then, they could have still claimed innocence and just said they had no idea what havoc and worry they caused by running off. If they had gone home then, they would have been scolded, but it probably would have blown over eventually.

            They couldn’t claim the same now. No, going home back then wasn’t an option, but this was now a problem on its own because no matter how they went about returning, it was going to be awkward. Without someone else to distract, focus would be on them alone and they knew that lectures were going to be flying from every angle. There were hurt feelings now to contend with and that meant there was probably going to be raised voices and passionate complaints.

            They were in for it and they were in for it alone.

            Or that was what they thought.

            Opportunity arrived in late August; one day as they scrolled through the news app on their phone, they paused at a picture of a familiar face. Their father was due in New York City for a big conference soon and they didn’t doubt that he’d probably be stuck doing interviews as well for at least a few days afterward as he had trouble saying no to people, something the media preyed upon at every chance. Smiling at a picture of him bent in half to shake a four year old girl’s hand, her tiny human hand barely able to grasp the width of his index finger, Frisk sighed out their nose. For such a mountain of a man or monster, he was still as gentle with children as he’d been for years. And to think, their first meeting went so… well, awful, honestly. It was hard to reconcile the image of their gentle, loving father bending down to politely shake a human child’s hand with the dark looming figure that the King of Monsters that had struck them down more than once. The idea was so bizarre, they ignored it immediately, content in the knowledge that he was a kind, sweet man nowadays, patient and loving.

            Frisk paused and looked at the photo with a new consideration.

            When it came to their parents, Asgore had always been the more permissive parent. As long as they didn’t try to hurt themselves, he was usually agreeable to anything, like when they’d talk him into take out instead of eating home cooked meals like their mother tried to insist on. He’d always been quick to defend them from others, his gentle soul trying his best to calm any ire they might raise for something or other they’d done (usually flirting with the wrong person). Asgore got to be the “fun dad” while Toriel got the harder jobs, like disciplining them. They had rarely resented their mother for it—it’d be a lie to say they’d never resented it, but in the end, Frisk was only human and a child—but they knew how far they could push their mother before she snapped and they were way past that now.

            Asgore, on the other hand. Toriel would let them have it when they got home, but Asgore _hated_ raising his voice. In all the memories, he’d only ever really yelled at them once, and that was because they nearly hurt themselves being careless.

            Of the two guardians, he’d be the one most likely to greet them warmly.

            “Fuck, I’m dense,” they chuckled, skimming the article again quickly. “Such an obvious answer and it was sitting there in front of my face the whole time.” They hummed thoughtfully as they switched to a new tab to find flights to New York.

 

 

 

 

            Getting to New York City was a tight pinch—while there were plenty of flights in, not all of them were flights Frisk could make in time, nor where they cheap enough. In the end, they lucked out and got an awful but cheap seat on a plane just in time to get to New York before their father went home. The seat was practically in luggage, but they made due and were ecstatic when they got off the plane.

            Hunting down their father was a bit tricky—he’d never been big on social media, any posts of his were more often search words he’d been trying to look up and instead of finding a search engine, he’d just plugged it into the wrong site. They ended up calling in some favors; a reporter friend of theirs pointed them to the right hotel.

            The front desk’s receptionist was bored but impeccable at her job—she was eager to flirt with Frisk, but it was quite a while before she relented and summoned their father down to the lobby for them. They pressed one last kiss to her knuckles before they shuffled away, aware that a manager was watching them now.

            Security was watching them as they stood in the middle of the lobby, looking at the elevators. They were sure a guard had started to approach them when one elevator finally dinged loudly and opened.

            More often than not, their father’s biggest challenge with humans nowadays was the fact that their architecture was just not built for nine foot tall, very broad monsters. He had to duck way down so his horns could scrape the top of the door frame as he stumbled forward. He was too polite to curse, but they could see his lips moving as he grumbled, just a tad. At least the hotel had giant, vaulted ceilings and he rose to his full height, relieved.

            Being as tall as he was, he could easily scan over the crowd in the lobby. His eyes sought the front desk and then started to move away before he paused. Their gazes locked and Frisk smiled as they raised a hand, trying to look like their knees hadn’t gone to jelly.

            And then, the moment of truth. As he looked at them, his eyes went wide, his mouth parting as his jaw dropped open. Frisk braced themselves, hopeful and cautious all at once.

            Then he laughed and relief washed over Frisk as if they’d slipped into a hot bath.

            He hurried over, causing a few human milling around to scatter out of his way. Once he was near, he barely left them a moment to lift their arms before he swept them up into a hug. “Frisk! Oh, my little one—Frisk, you’re here!”

            Their chest felt tight, but they were smiling as they wrapped their arms around his neck. “I’m happy to see you too, dad.”

            He squeezed them as gently as he could manage before pulling back, his eyes glittering as tears ran down his furry cheeks. “Oh, let me look at you—your face is so thin! Your mother’s going to drown you in food once she sees you.”

            They laughed before they could stop themselves, not even caring when a tear slipped down their own cheek. “Dad, I’m fine. I just had a rough flight here is all.”

            He didn’t seem to hear them; his face was still wet and he let out a big sniff. “Oh, little one, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

            “Oh, dad,” they sighed and hugged him again.

            Pulling them close, he tried to quiet a few sobs and sniffs before he finally managed get a hold of himself. Once he did, he pulled back and tried to smile. He pressed one massive hand to their face, practically engulfing it; they leaned into it and used it to dry one of their own tears. “Come on,” he said at last, “why don’t you come with me and we’ll catch up. There is so much I want to ask you.”

            They tried to stop their smile from growing wistful and melancholic, managing it until he turned away and headed to the elevator. “Yeah. I figured as much.”

 

 

 

            Once they got up to his suite—the elevator trip was quite the journey, as it often was riding in cramped elevators with their father—he quickly sat them down on the couch and then grabbed them a room service menu. “Here. You better eat something or your mother will kill us both when she sees you.”

            Frisk laughed, but decided to humor him. Once they picked something out and then ordered it, he still couldn’t seem to settle down—his hands fluttered about, reaching out to touch their knee, their shoulder, their hair, or their face, as if he couldn’t believe they were there and had to constantly remind himself. At last, they caught one of his hands in theirs and held it there; that seemed to settle him down some.

            The two of them had been chatting before then, but once they had his hand, he seemed to steady. “Frisk… I, I really am so glad to see you. This past year has been,” he paused, his eyes sad.

            They had expected to feel a little guilty, but that look alone sent a dagger into their heart—suddenly, a sliver of panic hit them. What if they’d been wrong? What if they weren’t ready to deal with the fallout? But they couldn’t leave now. Now was the time to follow through.

            He tried again. “We all missed you so much and we were all so… so worried about you. Your mother and I…” he sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he looked at them for a long moment before smiling again. “I really missed seeing you, little one.”

            They couldn’t help the sad smile on their face. “I missed you too, dad.” When he reached out to put a bracing hand on their shoulder, they took a deep breath. “I decided I wanted to go home.” They looked up at him and tried for a happier smile. “I just wanted to see you first.”

            His eyes widened and suddenly he was sniffling again. “Oh, Frisk.” Before they could say anything, he reached out and nearly squashed them into a tight hug. “I really hope you mean that.”

            They wheezed a little laugh, surprised. “Of course I mean it. I really did miss you, you know.”

            He chuckled and shook his head. “No, it’s not—I’m so happy to see you. It’s just... All these months, I wondered where you were, if you were… when I would ever see you again.” He paused, his mouth tight. “I just really want you to come home as well after this.”

            Trying their most reassuring smile, they patted his hand. “Dad, I told you. I… okay, I really was getting homesick. I’ve been planning to go home soon, it’s just I saw that you’d be here in New York for a meeting, and, well… it felt like fate, kinda? I just decided to come see you first before I went home.”

            He looked at them for a long moment, like he was judging them, or like he was trying to decide something. Then he smiled, a few more tears leaking out before he reached out to pull them into another, gentler hug. “I’m glad.”

            They smiled over his shoulder and tried not sigh as they leaned against him. “Me too.”

            They held each other for a few moments until Asgore pulled back, looking mostly composed once he reached up and wiped away a few tears. “I do believe you and I have a lot of catching up to do, child.”

            “What’s that?” they asked with a laugh, sitting back. “Dad, are you telling me you haven’t been keeping up with my escapades online?”

            Asgore chuckled uneasily, looking away. “Well, you know me. Um, well, I’ve never been very good with social media. It’s just confusing and everyone is just very. Well, you know.” He meant rude, confrontational, or just very extreme. While monsters were usually polite or kind to him, humans’ opinions were decidedly less warm, especially once word got out about the final fates of the human children. He didn’t really have much incentive to have any presence there. Not to mention he tended to find the whole thing hard to navigate at a basic level. “Lots of times Alphys would show me those post you sent to me and your mother. And sometimes Toriel would too, but, well, she’s been very… preoccupied. So I’m sure I missed plenty from you, I’m afraid.”

            Frisk’s humor died. They looked away, paused, then shrugged before turning back with a smile. “Well, I’m here now. Why don’t you ask me something?”

            He froze and then laughed. “I hardly know where to begin! Well, um… why don’t we start with where you’ve been?”

            They grinned. “Dad, I’ve been _everywhere_.” They began with some of their early stories—they’d stuck to just California at first, then the neighboring states, then someone said something about Mexico and Frisk left. They were just talking about some misadventures in Cancun when room service finally came with their meal. As they ate, they continued their stories, sticking to the less wild stories, not mentioning all the trouble and mischief they got into. They told stories of the friends they made along the way, careful to keep away from the enemies they made in seedy bars or the lovers they took for casual affairs or one night stands. They told him of the magnificent vistas and sights they saw, but decided not to mention how many dangerous or precarious places they had to wriggle into and through to find those views. They wove their stories into glamorous, exciting tales, delicately tucking the ugly details out of sight.

            Asgore, for his part, seemed torn between delight and wistfulness. “You’ve certainly have led an exciting life this year.”

            Frisk laughed, careful to keep it light and not at all rueful. “It’s been an adventure. But I really am ready to come home now.”

            His eyes softened, but aside from one small sniff, he smiled genuinely. “It’ll be good to have you home. It’s been… very quiet without you.”

            They smirked, self depreciatively. “Dad, I don’t talk that much.”

            “My child, you’ve come a very long way since you were that quiet child,” he quipped, sipping his cup of tea he’d made up with the suite’s little electric kettle, the tiny cup looking like a toy in his hand. “But, even when you are quiet, I assure you, you have ways of making your presence felt and the absence of it is noticeable.”

            They paused. Was that true? They’d always thought themselves a little forgettable—they had a nice enough face now that they had their acne under control, but they were never going to win any beauty pageants. They tried to be fun and light, but sometimes they got sick of their own shit, let alone others, and the inexorable itch to keep moving made it hard to stay in one place long enough or slow down to stay in groups for long. But then, Asgore was their father—either he was being nice, or he was just blind to their faults. Honestly, it was probably both; still, it was sweet.

            They waited too long to respond, but he didn’t seem time mind. “Frisk, have you already booked your flight home yet?”

            “Hmm? Oh, no. Actually, I was planning on just hitchhiking home.” They ignored his look of alarm, sipping their own cup of tea. “Got really into it in Europe, but, you know, it’s been so long since I’ve seen some of these places, I just thought it’d be neat to see them again. Maybe head to Yellowstone or Las Vegas, drop into Chicago, see one of my friends there-”

            “Frisk,” he interrupted them; they blinked up at him, saw the worry clear in his eyes, and felt a twinge of guilt. “I think it would be best if you came home with me. Tomorrow.”

            Now it was their turn to feel alarm. _The question is now, who’s going to kill me first? Mom or Undyne? God, I still need to think of what I’m going to say to either of them and they’re both going to be so pissed and_

_And_

            And at least they would be home. They paused, throat tight, and nodded. “Okay.”

            He seemed just as surprised as them. “Okay?”

            “Well, if you’re offering, I really shouldn’t refuse, right?” They smiled. “I don’t suppose you have a spare ticket though, huh?”

 

 

 

            It took forever, but eventually Frisk wrangled themselves a plane ticket, although their father had to agree to trade his seat for another one so he could sit with Frisk. After that, they were both exhausted; Asgore tried to talk them into taking the bed, but Frisk convinced him that after a year of sleeping wherever they could find that was safe and dry, the couch was a major upgrade. Pity and a little guilt probably made him agree, but he woke them up bright and early for breakfast before they left the hotel.

            They goofed off on their father’s phone as they waited in the airport for their flight. They contemplated taking a picture and posting it to some social media website, partially as a warning. In the end, they decided that it’d be better to surprise their mother—if they surprised her enough, maybe she’d forget to be furious at them.

            Their flight was long and boring, but they amused each other with more stories from the times Frisk had been gone. Life had been mostly quiet at home apparently—Alphys and Undyne had celebrated the arrival of their second batch of children, a rambunctious group of lizard monsters who seemed to be delighting in terrorizing Alphys and chasing after Undyne. Their old friend, Monster Kid, had gone and gotten married to a very sweet guy that Frisk vaguely remembered from one of the grades below theirs. Papyrus had come and gone multiple times, helping Mettaton with his tour, running around doing his own things. Toriel and Sans had a lovely wedding, not that Asgore attended—Alphys told them that much later—and had settled quietly into newlywed life with little fuss.

            He didn’t mention much about everyone’s reaction to their leaving—they’d already caught an earful months ago when Papyrus let them use his phone to talk. They’d gotten another phone after that which later met an unfortunate end that they honestly hadn’t meant to happen—it got stolen in Italy. Before that, though, they’d talked a bit with their old friends and had been scolded thoroughly already. Still, as they talked, they wondered how much of a mistake they were making.

            Once the plane landed, Asgore rented a car and they drove to his home first. To their surprise, no one had come to greet them at the airport, all of them being busy with their own lives (such as Alphys and Undyne) or who just didn’t interact with him much (their mother). That more or less ruined their plan to use their father’s return as a smokescreen. They were just going to have to face everyone head on, whether they were ready or not.

            They helped him carry in his luggage when they got to his house and then sat down for some more tea and cookies. Frisk would have been happy to spend the day there, maybe catch a nap as well, but Asgore would hear none of it. “If Toriel found out that you were here all day, just sitting around and not going to see her…”

            That they couldn’t really argue, so they reluctantly let him drive them over to Toriel’s house. They climbed out of the car, got their bag out of the back, and then paused. “Are you not coming in?” they asked hopeful—it’d be nice to have someone else there, for emotionally support if nothing.

            He smiled at them and reached out of the driver’s side window to cup their face in his palm. “I think your mother’s going to want to talk to you alone. I expect to see you tomorrow though.”

            “That’s if mom hasn’t flambéed me, sure.”

            “Nonsense,” he teased, pulling his arm back into the car. “Your mother’s more of a barbeque type person.”

            “Fair enough. See you tomorrow, dad.”

            He started the car back up, but then he paused, looking at them for a long moment, as if he was suddenly frightened of something.

            Christ, they’d thought their father was going to be the easier option to see first, but the guilt he was inspiring in them was going to kill them at this rate. They leaned into the car to gently press a kiss to the end of his long nose. “I promise, dad, I will definitely see you tomorrow.”

            “Alright,” he murmured, reluctantly, putting the car into drive, but not taking his foot off the brake just yet.

            “I’m expecting tea at two sharp,” they added with a grin. That finally made him smile and at last, he went back out of the drive. They watched him for a moment, raising an arm to wave goodbye when he waved at them before driving away. Once he vanished down the road, they turned and headed for the front door.

            The tried the knob and wasn’t terribly surprised when it didn’t turn. Usually, if their mother was doing something in her room or any room that wasn’t in the front of the house, she locked the doors, especially if she wasn’t expecting visitors. Still, they had half suspected Sans would be vegging out on the couch. Unless he had another new job.

            They paused at the thought of knocking at the door for only Sans to appear. They were nervous to see their mother again, but Sans? Could they handle that right off? With a shudder, they decided to look for the spare key, but couldn’t find it in any of the usual hiding places. Either Toriel had moved it, or Sans had forgotten to put it back in its proper place.

            With a sigh, they picked their bag back up and walked around to the garage to see that their mother’s car was there, but not San’s moped. So, maybe he was working. They paused, smiling wistfully to see their dirt bike, tucked under a tarp in the corner of the garage. “Huh,” they murmured, walking over to check on it under the tarp—it looked just as they’d left it. One wrench was still attached to a bolt—they’d been in the middle of tuning it up when they’d left. “And here I thought mom would have chucked you the first chance she got.”

            Was this a good omen? They weren’t sure. They dropped the tarp and tried the door inside the garage—no good. And no spare key here either. Mom must have either moved these or Sans lost these ones as well.

            That left one door—the back, sliding glass door. That one was rarely locked, mainly because it was blocked by a chunk of wood and not an actual lock since Toriel had broken it accidentally when the key snapped off in the lock. _If worse comes to worse, I’ll either go sit on the front porch or I’ll get my lock picks out and see how rusty I’ve gotten._ A friend they made months ago had taught them the finer points of lock picking, but they hadn’t had many chances of actually using their skills. Perhaps they’d finally get that chance today.

            Grabbing their bag once more, they walked out of the garage and walked around the side of the house. They had to admit, their mother hadn’t changed much in the time they’d been gone. They found themselves smiling at the old swing set Asgore had built them when they were younger, at the flowers they planted years ago, and at the empty meadow behind the house that led to the woods.

            Resolving themselves to picking over the backyard more later, to see if they were missing some new details, they tried the backdoor. As they thought, it wasn’t locked nor was it blocked. They opened the door and poked their head inside. The house was dark and silent. Perhaps mom was out as well? Or maybe she was taking a nap. Frisk frowned and sat their bag down inside.

            “Shit,” they muttered, peering into the shadows of the kitchen. “Maybe I really should have called first.”

            Looking around, Frisk felt their heart beat a little faster as they sat their bag down by the table. The kitchen, unlike the rest of house, had changed some—there was a new fridge and there were new pictures in frames up on the wall. The old one of them and Toriel, standing side by side, Frisk wearing their graduation gown, still had a place of honor on the wall, but now it had a new neighbor of equal size frame. In it, their mother beamed at the camera, resplendent and lovely in her wedding gown; Sans next to her looked surprised, but genuinely happy.

            _Well,_ they thought at a loss. _Well._

            Had he managed to find a sliver of true happiness? Or was this a new mask? Or, rather, was his happiness genuine because they were gone?

            Papyrus stood smashed against his side, beaming nearly as brightly as Toriel, but on their mother’s side, there was a conspicuous absence. Perhaps Papyrus had ducked in at the last minute, but still, it was an obvious error that the photographer should have noted. The empty spot made the photo look incomplete, but the happy faces of those inside didn’t seem to note the loss any.

            Huh.

            _This was a mistake_ , a small voice in their mind hissed. _You should have never come back here. Look, see—they don’t need you here. They were perfectly happy without you. You should leave. They don’t have to even know you were here. Leave, just go and_

            They twitched and bit their lip so hard that they winced again. Shaking their head, they tried to ignore the sudden itch that tickled them below their flesh, tugging at their soul. _No,_ they shouted back, _I refuse. I didn’t come all this way to turn back now. I **must** stay-_

            Voices. Not the mental voices of doubt, but actual voices, behind them. They blinked and turned to look out the door. There, coming from the woods, Frisk could hear at least one very familiar voice. Papyrus, despite his best efforts, was always very loud and his voice carried on the breeze well. Still, they recognized the tone, rather than exactly heard, their mother’s voice flowing in between his words.

            Suddenly, their heart raced for a whole new reason. In spite of themselves and their anxiety, their feet quickly carried themselves to the door, stepping out to stare at the woods. There, half hidden in the trees, they could see the tall blur of their mother and her white fur, and the shorter, but equally white bones of their old friend.

            Without a word, they walked down the steps and strode across the backyard. Their long legs ate up the distance to the meadow, but then their mother and Papyrus finally stepped out of the trees. Eyes blurring, their feet began to fly. They only just heard a startled gasp when they cleanly vaulted over the fence at the far end of the meadow and then

            A crash as a bucket fell and snails were scattered and

            Papyrus called their name and

            Warmth. Warmth all around and their mother’s voice, brittle and hopeful. “My child,” she said, almost a question as she clutched Frisk to her.

            Frisk buried their face into their mother’s shoulder. “Hi, mom,” they managed, voice tight.

            There was sobbing; Papyrus was crying, their mother was crying, and if they started to cry, well, was it any surprise?

            “Oh, my child,” she murmured, pressing her head against theirs while Papyrus dropped his own bucket of snails to toss his arms around them both as well.

            Without a doubt, they were in a world of trouble and probably hours of scolding were waiting for them. And yet, Frisk found themselves eager to hear every word.

            At long last, they were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (belated) Halloween and Dia de los Muertos (as Frisk would be celebrating that right now)! I got a request on fanfiction.net from an anonymous guest, asking to see Classic!Frisk's return home from their year of running away.


	28. Getting to Know You

          “I have a question I would like to ask of you,” Chara murmured, surprising Papyrus. Around them, the other kids in their class wandered past them cautiously, eager to head home but still wary of the bizarre oddity that was Chara and Asriel’s shared control over one body and the intimidating bodyguard that escorted the princes to school. Asriel and Chara only started attending the school the week before and no one seemed to know what to think of any of it. Chara ignored the presence of the other children, more interested in looking up at Papyrus.

          Papyrus wasn’t quite sure what to make of Chara either—Asriel he understood. Asriel had been Flowey after all, and he’d always gotten a good vibe from the plant. He never caused the skeleton trouble, listened to whatever he was told (which was mostly that he needed to leave certain areas, but he never fussed about it and that was the important thing), he was willing to help without Papyrus needing to threaten him. He’d known that there was more to the flower when he spied him using vines to get him things from inaccessible places or pull himself straight out of the ground if need be—he knew then that he was smart. Papyrus hadn’t been surprised when he found out that he’d been the one to break the Barrier, just satisfied that he’d once again been right.

          Chara, on the other hand, was a mystery, which was a perception the child usually encouraged. In fact, they seemed content to stay hidden in Asriel’s body, an unknown force unless Asriel needed them, but in reality, Asriel needed them more than they’d first thought. They could handle the Overlord and Lady Toriel with deftness that left Papyrus impressed, but aside from general cleverness, he’d learned very little else about them.

          Perhaps this would be a good chance to learn more of his other ward. After all, he had to look after both children; he should know all he could about them. “You may ask it.”

          Chara nodded as they left the school building, walking in the vague direction of their new home. “I was curious how you acquired the crack in your skull.”

          Papyrus nearly reached up to touch the crack in his eye socket. _The crack? Is—is this an attempt at probing for a weakness? They really are a clever child then! Oh ho, I’d known they’d been smart before but—or wait! Perhaps this is an attempt at bonding, perhaps a prompt to reveal something of their own past? Impressive! Truly, I must have impressed the Overlord and the Lady to have deserved this honor._ He was smiling to himself until he realized that Chara was still waiting for an answer. Clearing his throat—an unnecessary, but useful sign for others to shut up so he could speak—he straightened his spine. “I see. Well, if that’s what you wish to know, then I shall tell you, your highness! You see, I received this crack a few years ago when I was in an important battle.”

          “Important?”

          “Very,” he nodded. “Shall I tell you of it?”

          His ward considered it for a moment. “If you would be so kind.”

          “Of course, your highness!”

 

 

 

          Papyrus did not start the fight, but even he would have to reluctantly concede that he’d been foolish first. He had walked through Waterfall’s marshes to try to find a shortcut back to New Home, but instead he walked into an ambush. He remembered hurrying through the tall sea grass, trying to be as fast and quiet as he could. Apparently, that had not been enough, not that he’d like to admit it. One moment, he’d been hurrying along, the next he’d stopped short, baffled by the appearance of glowing lights dancing around him. When he’d looked away from them, pointing himself back for home, he’d frozen.

          A figure stood at the edge of the patch of grass; a lithe woman in a billowy gown that fluttered around her brightly color plumage and around her tall, stilt like legs. She smiled at him, arms raised as if to greet him.

          Perhaps she was supposed to be tempting? He didn’t care and summoned a ring of bones around him, just to be safe.

          She smirked, her beak twisting to accommodate the expression. That was when her friends pounced.

          A monster with a horse’s head, a bird’s beak, a human’s torso and arms, and a horse’s cloven hoofed legs jumped from the water and leapt at him. The monster’s hands reached to grab Papyrus, but he stumbled back when Papyrus cracked him across the beak with a bone club.

          “Augie!” the bird woman gasped and flew at Papyrus in a rage, her face contorting and losing all hint of her past allure.

          Papyrus probably could have handled the two of them just fine; when the bird woman raced at him, he blocked her with a wall of bones and launched a wave at Augie that kept the chimerical beast away.  The bird woman took that moment to scream again, this time shouting _“Buka!_ Buka, get in here and help already!”

          That was when a six legged—or rather, a six armed, but it was hard to tell at such a busy moment—lizard monster surged out of the patch of marsh water on the other side of him. She scrambled past the wave of bones Papyrus sent at her, twisting around each missile like a ribbon of water.

          The bird woman tried to grab Papyrus in his moment of distraction; in revenge, he slammed a blunt ended bone spear straight into her sternum—if she had one. He wasn’t so sure which monsters did or did not have bones. The blow knocked the wind out of her and sent her falling backwards, but it only enraged Augie who blasted away the bullets Papyrus had just sent at him.

          Buka grabbed him around the neck—apparently, she didn’t realize that skeletons didn’t need to breath, but the weight of her massive body hanging on his back made him double over.

          While Buka’s weight held him down, Papyrus felt a fist slam into his face. He grunted in pain, but tried to focus on getting Buka off him.

          That was a mistake; while he was trying to wrestle the many limbed lizard off him, Augie kicked him in the face with one of his cloven hooves.

          Something in his face cracked. To his horror, he realized it _was_ his face that cracked, straight over and through his right eye socket. The light in his eye flickered and vanished as he tried not to howl in pain. For a terrifying moment, he thought he’d gone blind in that socket, like his brother had, only to realize his sight had only dimmed because of the trauma to the eye. At least it wouldn’t be permanent; still it was worrying as he was now half blind and it was still three against one.

          Augie grinned, face wild.

          That was when a red spear pierced him through the chest; he exploded into a cloud of dust. The bird woman screamed; Buka gasped.

          From the shadows of the marshes, an armor clad figure stepped out. “I told you assholes to _stay out of the grass!_  Looking at the fucking mess you made!”

          Papyrus blinked, stunned, but then realized that Buka was just as shocked. With her distracted, he latched onto her nearest arm and channeled blue magic through it. While she squeaked, Papyrus easily pulled her off and sent her flying with an effortless toss. He smirked to see her land in a heap, but then realized the armored figure was glaring at him too. On the figure’s armor, he saw the Delta Rune emblazoned on their chest—a Royal Guard then. Quickly, he scrambled out of the grass; the figure seemed to relax. A little.

          The bird woman, however, wasn’t as keen to listen as him. As he ducked out of the way, she tossed her head back and screeched loud and long. Rather than taper off, she took a deep breath and tried to lunge out of the grass, towards the guard. She didn’t get far—seeing her flying through the air, Papyrus acted as fast as he could and summoned a thicket of blue bones. Impaling her, the bones held her aloft, her scream of rage shifting into a howl of pain as she tried not to hurt herself by fighting against the magic of the bones. Sweat began to bead up at his temples, but still he held her in place.

          “Huh,” the guard muttered. It was the guard speaking that startled him into losing focus and letting her drop down into a heap on the ground.

          Buka slithered forward and grabbed her before she could pull herself back up. “No, you idiot!” Buka shouted over the bird’s thwarted howls of impotent rage and pain. “You can’t take on an Enforcer! Asrai, stop!”

          It took Papyrus a moment to realize the bird woman, Asrai, was still shrieking the name of her fallen friend. “Augie! _Augie!_ Oh, god, _no!”_

          It was hard to feel much pity for them—after all, they were the ones to attack _him_ —but he still turned his head out of respect as Asrai stopped her thrashing and screaming to break down into inconsolable sobs.

          The guard only huffed. “You, six arms.” Buka glanced up as she backed away from her friend, to give her a moment to herself. “If you want to collect… _Augie’s_ dust, you better do it now before it gets washed away.”

          Buka sneered, but did reluctantly leave Asrai’s side to go collect the dust, summoning a bag from her inventory along with a scoop. Why the hell was she carrying a bag and scoop obviously meant for collecting dust? Had she planned ahead for such an occasion, or had they planned to murder him, then collect his dust? To hide the evidence, to ransom his dust? Papyrus tried not to shudder at the thought. No, just better to assume that she was well prepared. Once she collected what she could of the dust, she moved back to Asrai, handed the inconsolable woman the bag and murmured to her. Asrai tossed her head back in a new wave of hysterics and had to be dragged away by Buka.

          Once the sobs finally vanished into the depths of the marshes, Papyrus glanced warily to the guard. His experiences with the guards were limited—today had been an unusual day in the first place when he’d had to travel all the way to Snowdin on an errand. Actually, he’d volunteered for the errand; he’d been eager to go on the trip across the Underground, happy to escape the lab. Despite the lab being the safest place for him, he hated staying there; there was so little to do and since he’d grown apart from Sans, there was only so many people willing to take a break to talk with him. Usually, he hung around the outside of the lab, never straying too far, despite his yearnings to leave it far behind. The guards rarely went into the lab; in fact, they hardly seemed to go near the lab at all. They patrolled around down the path of the lab occasionally, but that was it—he’d hardly ever saw them, let alone interacted with any of them.

          This one had, perhaps unwittingly but still unmistakably, saved his life. Out of respect for that, he forced himself not to immediately summon a wall of bones to defend himself when the figure began to stalk over to him.

          “Hey, idiot,” the guard snapped, reaching up to yank off their helmet. “What the hell were you thinking? Stick to the path; don’t wander around like a lost tourist out here. Did you honestly think the locals were going to let an easy target like you just go on his merry way?”

          The truth was Papyrus had gotten impatient, following the long, meandering path of Waterfall. Still, that sounded childish, so he lifted his chin and tried to act older than he was. “I was accosted on the path anyway. I figured if I was going to have to put up with trouble, that I could at least do it faster.” And honestly, he had gotten farther, faster, with almost no trouble until just then.

          The guard was a blue fish woman with a plume of long red hair, pulled back into a severe ponytail. She sneered, her yellow, jagged teeth glinting in the low luminescent light of the crystals and mushrooms around them. “Smart ass. Didn’t work out so well for you now, did it?”

          He considered his options before putting his fists against his hips. “Seeing as I’m not dead, I’d say it’d worked out just fine. Those fools might have surprised me, but they underestimated me too.”

          “I’ll bet,” she jeered, but then paused and seemed to reconsider him. “That bit at the end there. That wasn’t bad. Who taught you that?”

          He blinked at her and resisted the urge to shift nervously—blue magic wasn’t something he was supposed to talk about. “Blue magic is an ability of my family.”

          She snorted. “I figured. No, I was talking about the other part. The pinning her up in the air bit. Where’d you learn to do that?”

          Oh. That. “No one.”

          She raised an eyebrow. “No one?”

          “It’s just—just a natural extension of blue magic.” Gravity magic was downright necessary for skeletons, seeing they didn’t have any actual muscle to do heavy lifting—using it to further immobilize someone just made sense. Didn’t it? No, it had to be—there was no way he’d somehow screwed it up. Right?

          Still, the guard only stared for a moment before shrugging. “If you say so. Pretty sick though. That takes, what—a _lot_ of control and precision?”

          Was

          Was this… flattery? Acknowledgment?

          Holy shit. He had a new best friend.

          _I can’t mess this up._ Flustered, he found himself straightening up, tugging his shirt into neat lines. “O-of course! The Great Papyrus practices his control and precision every day, lest his skills get rusty! A rusty monster is a _dead_ monster, after all.”

          She huffed a laugh. Was that a bad sign? “Well said. You a fighter—Papyrus, was it?”

          Oh, god, she _was_ acknowledging him—not as some tagalong child, wandering behind his family’s accomplishments, not some useless halfwit, not good for anything. She thought he was a fighter—that he was worthy of some respect, at least. “Yes! And yes, I am! Wise of you to notice.” There, that sounded complimentary, didn’t it?

          She blinked at him for a moment before smirking. “Okay, wise ass.” Wise ass? Had he said something wrong? Before he could ask, she went on. “So, you’re tough and strong. You got a job?”

          He fell silent—technically, he helped out at the lab still, when everyone else _allowed_ him to, but at the same time he was discouraged from just randomly getting work. And he could understand—strangers were unknown, dangerous quantities and he held value as a living skeleton, viable for further restarting their species. But that was it—he could only work in nebulous, small ways—easily replaced or just too young to accomplish a real purpose. “Not… really. Nothing important, at least.”

          She frowned. “Nothing fulfilling, you mean.”

          That was so accurate he didn’t even really want to answer it; he forced himself to nod, to be polite.

          “Well, in that case, how about this for an idea? Ever thought of joining the Overlord’s Enforcers?”

          “Enforcers?” he paused. He’d been told plenty about the Enforcers—they’d been the Royal Guard up to about five years before when they’d been rebranded. At the time, Papyrus didn’t hear anyone mention anything about it—to be fair, he’d been mostly stranded in a lab and the scientists didn’t really care much about the Guard in the first place—but he’d always thought to himself that the Royal Guard sounded better. The Guard’s main duty was to protect and serve the Overlord—that sounded like an important job, even to a sheltered skeleton who’d been raised in a lab with little contact with the outside world. Plenty respectable—prestigious, even.

          It could finally be a way to contribute _something;_ he’d no longer be a useless kid wandering around in the shadows of others, of no help to anyone. Yes, why not try for the Guard? At least it was _something_.

          “’I hadn’t before,” he finally admitted, brightening, “but it does sound like something I could try.”

          “Try?” She cackled, looking genuinely amused. “Listen to you, you little shit, sounding like we should be so grateful for your time of day!”

          Papyrus flinched, but before he could protest, she was laughing again. After a moment, he tried to square his shoulders and stand tall. “Well, you did say you thought I was good enough, didn’t you?”

          She howled again. “Hah! You little fuckhead. Alright, tough guy,” she grinned, flashing all of her jagged, yellow teeth at him. “Come to the training grounds in the Enforcers’ post, in the castle. Bright and early—six sharp, you got it?”

          He lifted his chin. “Six o’clock sharp, in the morning.”

          “Good. See you there, shithead.”

          He left before she did—Guards never liked showing their back to anyone and even he knew he shouldn’t try and wait for her to leave first. If he had a heart in his chest, it would have been fluttering faster than an insect’s wing. Someone thought he was impressive, that he was worth spending time with, worth maybe joining the Guard. He was so content, he nearly forgot about the crack in his skull until he got back to the outside of the lab. He froze at his reflection in a window as he passed, one hand reaching up to touch the jagged crack in his skull. It was an ugly, nasty thing with tiny hairline fractures radiating out and covering most of the right side of his face. It would take years to fuse back together—since being a skeleton meant he hadn’t felt much pain after the initial hit, he’d been too excited about Undyne’s offer to think to heal himself.

          _Oh well. There are worse things that could happen, although this does mean I’ll probably get a lecture. Hmm. Maybe it’ll be useful for intimidating people in the meantime._ Satisfied for the moment, he turned and stalked forward to the lab.

 

 

 

          “And what happened?”

          Papyrus blinked down at the red eyed child below him. “What’s that?”

          Chara shifted, moving closer to him to avoid the press of the crowd of monsters as they waited at a crosswalk. “You had a meeting with Undyne the next morning to try out for the Guard. What happened then?”

          “Oh. It went… well. Better than she probably expected at least. We had a rousing battle, but at the end, when I had her nearly beaten, I. Hmm. Well, I’m afraid that she wasn’t impressed when I could have had a shot at killing her, but I refrained.” He sighed; he hadn’t thought she would take it so badly. He could still remember her annoyance, her confused face as his attacks vanished.

          “Why _not_ kill her?” they asked as the light finally turned. “It was kill or be killed.”

          Papyrus snorted and took their hand as the two of them crossed the street. “I didn’t think it’d look good if I killed my recruiter during our first sparring session.”

          Chara considered this as they scuttled closer to Papyrus, trying to escape the limbs of the passing monsters, having to dodge a few elbows and sharp claws as monsters hurried around them. While they were under the opinion that they were much too old to need someone to hold their hand across the street, Papyrus was at least tall enough not to smack them in the head with his elbow and his aura was enough to make others skirt around him. “Yes. That would make sense.”

          Papyrus beamed and puffed out his chest, letting the child’s hand go once they were across the street. “Of course it does! I’ve always be a very thoughtful strategist.”

          There was a pause and he was half sure that Chara must have been staring at him, but when he opened an eye socket to check, the child smiled softly. “You were a clever strategist then. You must be even more impressive now.”

          Papyrus walked silently for a moment before he turned to look down at the child. “Would you like to come see me and Undyne spar?”

          Chara shot him a surprised look. “Can I?”

          “Yes, of course! You can see for yourself just how great and powerful I am.”

          “…Alright. I accept.”

          “Excellent! I will call Undyne as soon we get home and set up a time. She should be heading home then.”

          Chara hid a small smile to themselves, ducking their head for a moment. “The crack in your skull. Why has it not healed already?”

          “Hmm?”

          “You met Undyne some time ago. You said you would eventually heal your crack. Why have you not?”

          “Oh, that? I _have_ healed it some,” he answered, reaching up to run his thumb against the inside of the crack. He bent down and let Chara see it better—the crack looked painful to them, but on closer inspection, the inside of the crack wasn’t jagged, but smooth and rounded. “It used to be much larger.”

          “A healing technique like that seems handy.”

          “Useful, maybe, but I’m afraid ‘handy’ isn’t the word I’d use! Unfortunately, the way for skeletons to heal bones is very… ugh. Well, you see, to regenerate lost bone mass, skeletons have to use their magic to grow a layer of bone velvet.”

          Chara perked up. “Like deer?”

          “What’s that?”

          “Deer lose their antlers. When their antlers return, they are coated in bone velvet. Until it peels off.”

          Papyrus nodded. “Ah yes, that sounds very similar to what it would be like for me. Except my skull doesn’t need to fall off to replace it.”

          Chara bit their lip to keep from smiling. “No one would like that.”

          “Certainly not!”

          They frowned thoughtfully. “Bone velvet leaves a bloody mess behind it. It looks gory.”

          Papyrus winced. “Yes, well, that happens too. It’s a pain to clean up.”

          A silly idea popped into their mind. They were willing to bet that Frisk didn’t know about it—they came from a very peaceful world, if they remembered right. They could imagine their revulsion and shock at the image of Papyrus with bloody skull, magic flesh falling off it. Frisk would probably have the most hilarious expression on their face. In the back of their mind, they heard Asriel giggling at the thought and smiled. They would keep this detail to themselves for a while. “It is messy. Is that the only reason why you do not like doing it?”

          “Err, not, it’s not,” he admitted, reluctantly. When they looked up at him, curiously, he scratched the back of his skull. “The velvet’s not _that_ unlike actual flesh, which means it can be sensitive to heat and such. But more than that…” He sighed, looking very put out. “It’s very… cuddly looking.”

          Chara was so surprised, they nearly missed a step. “…cuddly?”

          “Soft and squishy. It’s undignified!” he finally huffed.

          In the back of their mind, Asriel was besides himself with laughter, making it hard for Chara not to start giggling as well. They managed a mostly straight face as they spoke. “I understand. The human body is also not very efficient in the way it heals bones either.”

          They’d meant it only to put him at ease—they _were_ trying their best to behave, after all, and they didn’t want to have a bad relationship with the monster who was supposed to be keeping them safe and alive after all. But when they looked up at Papyrus, he was gazing at them with wide eyes, as if they’d revealed some humongous secret.

          “Human bodies can repair bones? Humans _have_ bones?!”

          They barely managed to stop themselves from barking a laugh at that. “Ah. Yes. Humans have bones.” They paused, trying to remember how healing bones worked, partially to just try to resist the urge to start laughing. “I think it… makes a lump of new bone around the break? And then eventually whittles the lump down.” Close enough at least.

          Papyrus looked utterly stunned. “Fascinating.”

          Chara shrugged; human bodies might be useful at one or two things, but as far as they were concerned, a monster form was far better. “In the meantime the bone is supposed to be as still as possible. When I broke my arm-”

          To their surprise, it was Papyrus’s turn to nearly miss a step. “You _broke_ your arm?” he yelped in pure horror.

          “Yes,” they answered reflexively, blinking up at him. “I was five. I believe.”

          “And you’re still living?”

          Well, if you wanted to get technical about it, Chara wasn’t really alive. Still, semantics—also, such a conversation would just upset Asriel. “Humans do not often die of broken bones.” They considered it. “Can skeletons die from them?”

          “Well, it doesn’t do us a lot of _good_.” He shuddered. “I’ve never broken a bone. Aside from the crack in my skull, but that doesn’t count.” He paused, thoughtful. “My brother did once, though. I was four at the time. He cracked his arm open and got dust and magic everywhere before someone could grab him and heal him.” There had been dust and magic _everywhere;_ it drifted off to coat machines and clothes and even people as someone finally pinned him down. He could still remember his brother’s howls of pain and horror.

          “Sans survived a broken arm?”

          “My brother’s health was not always so pathetic,” he sighed. He perked up. “Although, perhaps that will change now.”

          “Why would it?”

          Papyrus looked down, surprised. “Lots of reasons! Kill or be killed is gone! He’s no longer a sentry and we’re out of Snowdin. The Barrier is gone. Frisk—and you and Asriel as well—live with us now! There’s plenty of reasons for his HP to go up now.” He looked back up with an almost smugly happy look on his face. “Truly, he really doesn’t have an excuse now. Anyway! You were explaining about how you healed yourself.”

          “Ah. Yes.” They tried to recall the story as much as they could for him, sometimes losing the thread of conversation as they shifted through their memories. In their distraction, they began to meander away from the straight path. They hardly even noticed when Papyrus reached out to help steer them back into a safe, straight line while listening to them tell their story.

 

 

 

          Undyne was more than happy to indulge them in watching her and Papyrus spar. In fact, she sounded downright excited about it, something Chara hadn’t been sure about until two days later. When they’d followed Papyrus out into the backwaters of Waterfall—an area literally called The Backwaters, because their father really never should be trusted to name anything—they weren’t sure what to expect. They had expected that they would all go to one of the courtyards of the palace, were the training grounds were, but instead they had to take a seat on a rock as Papyrus and Undyne slogged into the mushy ground. They resolved themselves to ask why they didn’t want to use the steadier training grounds later and settled in to watch the show.

          The two didn’t disappoint. Immediately, spear and bone shaped bullets fanned out in giant rings behind them; with a single shout to begin from Undyne, the two sparring partners launched their first salvos of bullets, the two waves shattering each other on first contact. Chara gaped at the speed at which the bullets moved; even Asriel gawked from the back of their shared mind.

          From there, they were off, darting into the bulrushes before leaping at each other. They headed out, racing through the muck and waters until Chara had to sit up to keep the two in their line of sight. Chara got the distinct impression when Papyrus gave a wordless warning cry and they both jerked back towards the starting point that the two of them usually ran wild all across the marsh. The two of them were probably trying to contain themselves to one area so that Chara and Asriel could get a good show. Despite that, they managed to show off their almost instantaneous abilities to adjust from fighting in mud to water to on rocks to grass back to mud.

          Bones and spears flew through the air, the spears a little wildly and the bones with Papyrus’ usual precision; did the neighboring monsters give the light and magic show any notice at this point, or had they all learned _very_ quickly to stay away?

          The most thrilling moment came when Undyne at last ripped off her eye patch and her false eye began to glow. Instantly, Papyrus summoned one of the odd, almost draconian shaped skulls Chara remembered Sans using during his fight with Frisk—they hadn’t known Papyrus could also make the odd blasters, but it worked perfectly when it began to glow a brilliant red as it opened its maw in time to release a powerful beam. The beam crashed into Undyne’s eye laser, the two colors mixing to create a purple supernova where the beams met—the two beams clashed for a long time until Undyne had to stop and Papyrus’ blaster faded from view.

          Undyne quickly shot another beam of light; Papyrus countered with another blaster, but this time, a second blaster appeared a few moments later, directly behind Undyne and began to charge. She must have noticed something behind her—the light? Chara wasn’t sure how she could have sensed the magic when she was focused on releasing so much of her own—and disengaged to jump clear.

          The first blaster vanished once Undyne dodged, but the second blaster still fired. Papyrus dismissed the first blaster and the summoned a wall of blue bones—once the blast hit the bones, the beam turned blue and harmlessly passed around Papyrus’s still form.

          As the beam and blaster vanished, Undyne cackled. “You fucking show off!”

          If Papyrus had a reaction, Chara didn’t get to see it as their guard had his back to them.

          He must have, because Undyne only laughed again as she summoned a new wave of bullets. “In that case, let’s put on a real show.”

          The fight went on, eventually coming down to Undyne using a spear as an actual physical weapon, which Papyrus countered by using his bones as clubs or altering them to taper into a sword’s sharp blade. Their footwork was impeccable, no matter what terrain they happened to land on. Finally, Undyne shouted something and the two stood abruptly ramrod straight, both of them putting one hand, open palmed, against their weapons, Undyne against the shaft of her spear, Papyrus against the false edge of the bone sword. With another barked shout, the two of them flung their free hand away, shattering the weapons as they passed through, leaving the magic to vanish in one last dazzling flash.

          Dazzling—that’d been the word for it. Chara’s chest and throat felt tight and they were vaguely aware their jaw was hanging open slightly as Papyrus and Undyne turned to them. They shut their mouth quickly, but their chest still felt tight as the two guards started walking back towards them.

          “Alright, kiddo,” Undyne laughed, whacking Papyrus on the back—he was the only person Chara had yet to see not be immediately knocked down whenever Undyne whacked them on the back. “Did you enjoy the show?”

          Enjoy the show? God, where were they supposed to even begin?

          _If you don’t know, I do! Let me talk!_ Asriel begged.

          With a tiny smile, Chara released control over to him and slid towards the back of their shared mind while Asriel exploded forward and immediately began to shout his excitement. They watched as their best friend quickly began to rehash the entire fight with embellished sound effects and gestures, so excited that he forgot his fear of Undyne for a moment (Papyrus being right there helped as well). Both combatants looked amused, Undyne smirking in what was perhaps her most friendly way.

          Once Asriel finally started tapering off, Undyne laughed, but Papyrus looked like he was still waiting for something. “I’m glad you enjoyed the demonstration, my prince. But what’s happened with their highness? They were the one who was watching us first.”

          Chara tensed in surprise, but Asriel only giggled at them. “Oh, they couldn’t think of what to say, so they let me speak first.”

          “Is that a bad thing?” Papyrus asked, somehow furrowing his brow.

          Asriel laughed. “No! Chara’s _never_ speechless! That’s how you know-”

          Chara twitched and surged forward, displacing Asriel, who only laughed at them. _That is enough out of you._

 _It’s true!_ Asriel sang back.

          Chara ignored him and turned back to the two monsters waiting on them. Undyne looked confused at Asriel’s abrupt silence, but Papyrus saw their red eyes and realized what had happened. Realizing that Papyrus was now probably expecting their thoughts, they cleared their throat. Going out on a limb, they spoke the first thing to come to mind. “Very impressive. It is reassuring to know that my family and I are in the capable hands of two powerful guards.”

          Papyrus’s chest puffed, pleased, while Undyne laughed, smacking Papyrus in the shoulder.

          “Fuck, Pap, look at this. You got the kid taking after you! You watch out, or you’re going to give them a smart mouth too.” She guffawed and moved past them to start pulling off the light armor she’d been wearing. She snickered as she undid her gloves.

          _Ah. Yes. I forgot what an ass she is,_ Chara thought in annoyance while Asriel shuddered in the back of their mind—still, that was better than his usual waves of fear that Chara felt from him when he was around Undyne. They grimaced, but then heard movement behind them as Papyrus stepped up beside them. Their guard reached for them, like he meant to put a hand to their shoulder, but the hand hovered inches away. Usually, they appreciated him not touching them, but for a moment, they wished they had Asriel’s easy nature and could just duck behind Papyrus to use him like a barrier.

          “It’s an honor to look after the princes,” Papyrus said, and it almost sounded like a scolding. If it was, Undyne didn’t seem particularly annoyed by it as she shot him an amused look. “Speaking of looking after them, we’ve run over time. I need to get the princes home.”

          She waved him off. “Whatever, I need you guys to go so I can go see Al. Good session today.”

          “You too,” he answered before he turned to Chara and began to gesture them forward. “See you tomorrow, Undyne.” With that, Papyrus shepherded them back the way they came, heading out of the muddy marshes.

          Walking through the reeds and sloshing through the muck, Chara almost slipped a few times and would have, had Papyrus not pulled them back up by his blue magic. By the third time it’d happened, Chara had to snort as Papyrus steadied them on their feet. However, after a moment, instead of walking again, Papyrus just frowned. “Not to be presumptuous, your highness, but would you like it if I just carried you out of here? It’s awful slippery.”

          Chara opened their mouth to instantly deny it, but then paused—it was the touch of humans Chara _really_ hated, even if they found the touch of most monsters also unpleasant. But they didn’t detest _all_ touch—their family and Frisk mostly—and after some thinking, they thought they could tolerate Papyrus’s, if only until they got out onto solid ground. “You may carry me.”

          Quickly, Papyrus reached down and scooped the child up, settling them high up to perch on his shoulder—they had to clutch the top of his head for balance, but it meant that Papyrus only had to hold them by their legs. It was, they had to admit, a clever way to sidestep Chara’s own misgivings. As Papyrus started off again, Chara hummed thoughtfully to themselves.

          “Something wrong, your highness?”

          Chara thought for a moment of just completely dodging the question. Instead, they paused and looked at him. “Just a thought. I really _am_ glad that you are looking after us.” They patted the crown of his skull. “You are quite tolerable, Papyrus.”

          From the way Papyrus beamed, you would think Chara had offered to make him Captain of the Royal Guard. “I find you very tolerable as well, your highness!” he said at last, still smiling.

          Chara bit back a smile while Asriel laughed—while they doubted he meant any more harm than they had when they called him tolerable first, they were surprised by the taste of their own medicine. Shaking their head slightly in amusement, they looked back up to the path in the distance. “If you would like. You may call me by my name.”

          Papyrus puffed up below them. “If it would please you,” he answered, sounding tickled himself.

          Smiling softly, Chara gave the skeleton’s head another pat and settled in for the trek home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request from alextisgr8 which was originally just "Undyne and Papyrus show off while sparring" and became a tale of Chara and Papyrus bonding as well as Papyrus and Undyne's first meeting. This chapter really got away from me.
> 
> I was going to have bit where Chara actually asks Undyne why she didn't accept Papyrus into the Enforcers, but it didn't want to happen naturally, so I left it out. The truth is that 1) Papyrus really was too soft for the group, and was under the impression that the Enforcers' job was to protect Asgore and not beat the population down. That's why he prefers to call them the "Royal Guard" still. He thinks it sounds cooler (Read: nobler, more heroic.)
> 
> And 2) she found out that he was only *15* at the time and nearly had a retroactive heart attack at the thought that she probably nearly killed him a few times during their fight. (It's hard to guess a skeleton's true age, unless you know what to look for, which she didn't.) Anyone under 20 in Fell!verse is still considered a child, and is therefore still supposed to be exempt from Kill or Be Killed. For those who are curious, this means Papyrus was 19 during The World, Upside Down. Frisk would be horrified by this (as they were later on when Papyrus did finally heal his skull and the magic peeled off to reveal this gorey looking skull).


	29. College Trouble

          When Asriel and Chara died, monster kind quickly caught on that the loss was greater than they could know. It was, however, the little things over the years that seemed to pain them in surprising ways. There was no gossip about misconduct, about how they were spending time, about who they were courting. There were no birthday parties to celebrate each year, no one to praise or shake their heads over. There was no one to watch grow older in the public eye, no one to dote upon, no one to look at and admire from afar.

          The return of both princes, of their old wise queen, compounded later on by with the news that the Barrier was gone, saw the highest spike in hope the kingdom had seen since Chara’s arrival or Asriel’s birth before then. With their return, monsters were eager to pry into any scrap of information about the princes and their goings-on, although the royal family and the ambassador all insisted on the children’s privacy. Still, some things forced them to step into the limelight, like the yearly pilgrimage through the Underground on the anniversary of the Barrier’s destruction.

          This year, there was a special celebration. In April, the princes graduated high school and no one knew who was proudest of them, their family and friends or just monster kind in general. Monsters watched with fond and hopeful eyes as their future rulers stepped towards adulthood. As they were no longer quite children, security around them loosened a bit and Asriel was more open to take interviews.

          (But not Chara. Chara never had, nor ever would, have any interest in interviews.)

          Monsters began to scrutinize the princes more now. They cheered over the summer when the princes got a license but tutted when instead of buying a sensible and safe car, they bought a motorcycle instead. Someone pointed fingers at Frisk (not without reason), although Asriel would be the first to point out that it just made sense since Asriel was going on six feet tall and still growing. When late summer rolled around, monsters excitedly listened to hear where the princes would be attending college, waiting for the next bit of news to come. Even human sources of media got curious, tossing around names and debating what the princes would major in.

          When the news finally broke that an Ivy League school in California, west of Ebott, had admitted the princes, monsters rejoiced. After all, there was no doubt that the princes weren’t brilliant and would make them all proud. Monster and human kind alike pricked their ears and turned their gazes to them, hoping some juicy stories would start leaking out of the college soon.

          “It’s a lot of stress,” Asriel murmured, sitting in his dorm room, on the floor, next to the box he’d just finished unpacking, clutching his horns for comfort. “I think I’m having a panic attack.”

          “Nonsense,” Frisk told him bluntly, disentangling his hands from his horns to pull him over and let him rest his head on their knee as they sat in his chair across from him. Once he settled his head there, they began to run their hand through his fur until his shoulders began to relax. “I know you well enough to know that you cry during panic attacks.”

          “Frisk, this was a terrible idea. Why didn’t you talk me out of it?”

          “Because it’s not a bad idea, it’s a smart one. Getting out of Ebott, seeing the world, that’s fantastic. You’re doing better than I did at eighteen.”

          “You’re just saying that because I didn’t run away and go drink myself blind in a bar,” he chuckled.

          “Exactly,” they laughed, patting his head. “Already off to a great start!” They paused, scratching a spot at the back of his head that made him sigh. “Look, sweetie, you got this. Christ, Az, this is so far below any of the other bullshit you’ve went through, it can’t even compete. But if you have any trouble, any of us are only a phone call away. Papyrus will literally be here in a heartbeat if you need him.”

          He sighed. “I know.” He managed a smile. “It’s just… you know?”

           They carded their fingers through the fur that grew thick on this skull—he kept it trimmed down because if he didn’t he’d have a mane as wild as his father’s. “You’ve never had to live on your own, love.”

          “Aside from the time I was a flower abomination, yeah.”

          They patted his head, signaling him to sit up. After doing so, they reached out, cupped both of the sides of his head, and pressed a kiss to the end of his nose. “A very wonderful flower abomination, but the point stands. You’re just a little nervous. _Think_ about how long you’ve been planning this. You’ve had your furniture picked out since June. You got an entire new wardrobe. And the plans you made! All the people you’re going to meet, all the football games you don’t care about that you’ll go to, all the keg stands you'll do-”

          He snorted in spite of himself. “I don’t know how to do a keg stand.”

          “You’ll learn! That’s what you’re here to do anyway—learn, right?” They winked at him. “Besides, I happen to be an old pro at them, so if you need tips, all you gotta do is call. Now, come on. Get up off the floor, before Papyrus gets in here and starts to worry. I can hear him coming down the hall now.”

          Quickly, Asriel scrambled up just in time to see a pile of boxes, surrounded by a blue aura, come floating in through the door before Papyrus himself stepped into the room. Once he was inside, he gestured his hand in the direction of the last empty corner of the room. The boxes floated over and rested there until Papyrus twisted his hand and the blue aura abruptly vanished. “There! That’s the last of it.”

          “Beautifully efficient as always, my dear,” Frisk announced as they stood. “What would any of us do without you?”

          They said it to sound cheerful and doting, but Papyrus only grimaced as he turned to look to his princes. “Are you sure you have everything? Do you have your emergency crystal?”

          Biting back a sigh, Asriel lifted his hand and hooked his thumb around the string around his neck, pulling it taunt to show off the crystal hanging from it.

          Papyrus hardly looked satisfied, even for a second. “Do you have your phone? Your keys? Your bandana?”

          “Do you have your horns?” Frisk asked teasingly, their smile shifting to pure innocence when Papyrus rounded on them.

          “Yes, yes, yes, and yes,” Asriel answered quickly before Papyrus could start to huff at Frisk. “I have everything. There’s no need to worry about me.” He paused, looked at Frisk, and smiled. “I got this.”

          Frisk beamed and stepped forward. “Of course you do. Now, are you sure you don’t want us to stay and unpack? We could have supper afterwards.”

          “Nah. I know you got a long ride home and all that junk.” He took a deep breath and nodded. “I got this, I know I do.”

          “Promise to call us lots?” they asked, voice softer. “Don’t pull a _me_ now.”

          “I won’t.”

          They nodded and held out their arms to him. “Now, come give me a hug.” After he swiftly reached down and squeezed them, they patted his back before pulling away. “Remember, Az. It’s only for a semester. If you don’t like it, we can just set you up with an apartment for next semester. Now, I’d also liked to say goodbye to Chara myself, please.”

          Without a word, Asriel handed control over to Chara, who stepped out of the hug, but let Frisk hold their hands and press a goodbye kiss to their cheeks.

          “Take care of each other,” they murmured.

          “I will look after him as I always have,” Chara said, voice prim to bury the edge of teasing.

          Not that Asriel missed it. _Jerk,_ he called affectionately as Chara turned to Papyrus just in time to hear their bodyguard muttering about the fact the campus was a bunch of stupid ingrates to forbid his presence. They all had already heard his exact thoughts about the whole thing and even Frisk’s patience was beginning to fray.

          Deciding to just ignore it, Chara took a step closer to the skeleton. “Farewell, Papyrus.”

          Papyrus, shaken from his grumbling, looked up at the prince and sighed. “Goodbye for now, your highness. Call me if you need anything.”

          “I will,” they promise with as much solemnity as they can manage before surprising the skeleton with a hug. Beside them, Frisk pointedly grumbled that Chara didn’t let _them_ hug Chara; rather than tease the ambassador, Chara turned the control back over to Asriel who gave Papyrus one last squeeze before stepping back.

          “Papyrus, I promise we’ll be okay,” Asriel added.

          “You’ll make sure you have your crystal on you at all times?” he asked, sounding torn between sulking and genuine sadness.

          “I swear it.”

          “Papyrus, love, it’s not like we won’t see them again,” Frisk sighed, reaching out to rub his back. “I mean, they have to come back for Liberation Day preparations. Although,” they added with a teasing glare, “we all expect to see you back _before_ then too.”

          _“Of_ _course_ I’ll come home before then,” he said hurriedly, resting a bracing hand on Papyrus’s arm. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

          Papyrus managed a nod and then squared his shoulders. “And I’ll have a fine meal ready for you when you come back!”

          Asriel hid a look of fear—Papyrus had greatly improved in the decade since they escaped the Underground, but he still cooked best when he stuck to simple meals and was heavily supervised. He heard Frisk snort.

          Finally, together they managed to eventually convince Papyrus that it was time for him and Frisk to go. After a last wave goodbye before the skeleton walked away, Asriel turned to Frisk one last time. Seeing the human’s kind smile, he was for a moment transported back to his childhood, when they’d been the only friend he dared trust, the one to lead him back to his happiness, his family, and Chara. Panic overwhelmed and he had to bite his lips to keep from whimpering.

          With gentle understanding in their eyes, Frisk held out their arms and he gratefully stepped into them. “You’ll be okay, Asriel. And if you aren’t and you feel homesick, you just call me.” They pulled back and gave one of his ears a teasing tug. “We both know I have a pretty shitty sleep schedule, so don’t worry about calling me late at night either.”

          He laughed, but it was a tight, wet sound. “Frisk, that’s nothing to be proud of.”

          “Eh, maybe. But I may as well be honest about it. I mean it,” they tugged his ear again, but the look in their face was serious. “Being homesick is awful. Call me if it gets you down, okay?”

          He nodded and gave them one last squeeze before pulling away. “You’ll, uh, you’ll make sure Papyrus doesn’t go _too_ crazy with that meal, right?”

          Frisk shot him a knowing look, but didn’t answer. “Your parents will be over here tomorrow. Do you want me or Papyrus here, or will you be okay?”

          “I’m not _that_ broken up about this,” he said in an almost convincing huff. “It’ll be fine.” He paused. “I’ll be fine.”

          “I know you will,” they answered and pressed a kiss to the end of his nose. “I gotta go before Papyrus comes to fetch me and we have to do the whole show and dance number again.”

          After a final goodbye, he watched Frisk disappear down the hall before he reluctantly stepped back into his room. Looking around, he sighed and ran a hand over his face before squaring his shoulders. “I can do this.”

          _Yes. You can._

 

 

 

          For the first few weeks, Asriel managed just fine—if your definition of ‘fine’ included nightly phone calls to Frisk or Papyrus or his parents or one memorable time Sans, who picked up Frisk’s phone because they were in the shower and he _had_ to physically hear another person’s voice or he’d end up with a panic attack. He was a little annoyed at his own weakness, but he’d also known that when he decided to step out his comfort zone for university that it might come back to haunt him. At least Chara was there—while he was mostly fine, sometimes he’d walk past something—a sign, a picture, a café—and he had to let them take over because he needed a few moments to collect himself.

          But he _did_ manage. Classes started up and to his relief the other students were at least polite to him—there were very few other monsters there, but it seemed like every student that was there because they wanted to be there. And those that didn’t were usually rich kids whose parents had paid their way in, and they either never came to class or seemed to be very laidback with the idea of schoolwork. The professors ran the gamut from kiss asses with dreams of somehow making money off an acquaintance with the princes of monsters, to the genuinely good teachers just trying to teach their students, to the ones who just didn’t care anymore because they had tenure, goddamnit, and you can’t stop me anymore!

          Personally, Chara liked the last kind the most—they tended to be comically absurd and got into the most trouble. Asriel was just glad that if any of them were monster bigots that they were smart enough to keep it to themselves.

          Classwork was fine, but campus life was fascinating. Back home in Ebott, the humans had reluctantly accepted monsters for the most part, although a few bad eggs sometimes tried to stir up trouble that rarely went anywhere. Here at the university, people were open to the idea of peace with monsters, although almost none of them had actually seen monsters before. It led to some interesting meetings, like when some vlogging internet personality nearly tackled Asriel in an attempt to “show him off” to her fans which went awry when she missed pouncing on him and instead slammed her face into the ground. Asriel had to pick her up and heal her himself after that stunt.

          Mostly, the first half of the semester passed as smoothly as anyone could reasonably hope. The campus was strict with reporters already, security tight to reassure the rich kids’ parents that their children would be safe, and the dorms were also tightly monitored. Even if the security wasn’t up to Papyrus’ standards, Asriel had thought it safe enough.

          So, about the time of the second half of the semester started, it was Chara who realized something was wrong. Asriel hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that there was a new security guard walking outside their dorm for the past week, but it had nagged at Chara’s mind the entire time. They felt entirely justified to be smug when they heard one of the windows in their dorm getting smashed at three in the morning.

          Asriel had just finished a caffeine fueled writing crunch for a paper due in two hours and jerked his head up at the sound. There were some muffled gasp and one surprised yelp from the rooms down the halls. “Shit,” he mumbled and started to stand. That’s when they heard the sounds of many feet hitting the floor downstairs, moving fast.

          Somewhere, a door opened—the RA for the dorm crept down the hall past his open door, looking utterly terrified.

          _He’s going to get himself killed,_ Chara announced dispassionately. The RA didn’t even make it down the stairs before the sound of footsteps changed to pounding up. The RA yelped and there was the sound of a rifle butt smacking against meat followed by a thud and then dragging noises. _They are looking for something. Probably us._ They were the most famous political figure in this dorm after all.

          _“Fuck,”_ Asriel spoke again. “I gotta go—I gotta—fuck.”

          Chara snorted in the back of his brain before shifting forward, pushing the frazzled prince back. _You will do nothing. **I** will handle this._

 _Make sure to summon Papyrus if it gets bad,_ Asriel called back, happy to leave them to it.

          Someone kicked open a door—it was followed by a scream of fear and then a voice barking an order out. Another door down the hall opened. Yes, they were definitely searching for something.

          With a sigh, Chara decided to buy themselves a moment. Reaching inside to the magic that made up their shared form, they caught the thread of it and _twisted_.

 

 

 

 

          When they were both thirteen, Chara tried an experiment. It was to test an hypothesis they’d had for nearly five years, something that came to their mind after some time sharing Asriel’s form. When Asriel first took on his old form, it’d been a natural choice—the basis of their new body was partially the dust of his old physical form, and he’d been the conductor among the seven human souls. But really, the body they had now was powered by Chara’s soul and the body’s natural form was a flower, not a boss monster. So, if their new form was just as much their presence as Asriel’s, why couldn’t they change it?

          Turns out, that’s exactly what they could do.

 

 

 

 

          Precisely one second before an intruder kicked open the bedroom door, a boss monster had been sitting on the messy bed. When the intruder kicked the door, however, it was a bleary eyed seventeen year old human who blinked at them. A gun was promptly leveled at the room’s inhabitant’s head. “Don’t move!” the man growled.

          The human just kept staring.

          One of the other intruders passed by, looking in over his compatriot’s shoulder before sneering. “Not the right one. Keep an eye on him though.”

          If the human glared, it was there and gone so fast that the assassin could never actually be sure if he’d seen it there in the first place. To be safe though, he kept his gun leveled at the teen’s head.

          The one giving the orders walked away, to peer into other rooms. Chara watched them go, judging him. _I’m saving that one for last. I will make him pay._

 _Chara, no killing!_ Asriel nearly wailed.

          “Hey! Eyes forward, dipshit!”

          Chara’s eyes snapped back to the nearest intruder who took another step into the room. _Fine. But I will start with this one first._

          In the back of their mind, Asriel sighed.

          The intruder took another step forward.

          Chara smiled.

          Behind the door, a speck of red light glittered and grew. Magic was not a natural talent of Chara’s, being human and not even a mage at that. Still, magic was just as much a part of this form as their legs were. Bullets were shaped by the personalities of the monsters—or in this especially rare case, the human. Asriel’s personal magic skewed to stars; Chara’s only ever wanted to form knives.

          When the intruder took one more step, the ball of red magic narrowed and stretched into the shape of a tiny knife. With the intruder gazing at them, he never noticed the little knife that flew hard into the door, burying itself into the wood and swinging it shut. There was a gouge mark where it’d sunk in, but the knife vanished by the time the intruder whipped around to see what happened.

          Chara smirked. “Idiot.”

          The assassin didn’t even have time to turn around before a dozen red knives slammed into his back. As he fell to his knees, Chara could see his orange soul flickering in the air, having been drawn out when Chara’s bullets first aimed at him, not that the fool probably had time to notice it. **_2/50 HP._** _This is just pathetic._

          _He’s not dead, right?_

          “Have a little faith, Asriel,” they murmured, standing up.

          Another assassin shoved the door open; she only took a half step in before her cyan colored soul pop out, startling her, although probably not half as much as the magic knives slamming into her did. **_1/45 HP._** _Honestly. What amateurs are we dealing with here?_

Quickly, they walked over, grabbed her by her ankles and pulled her into their room. They gave her one last kick to get her into the room and then shut off the light to hide the unconscious forms. A sloppy tactic, but it seemed appropriate considering what they’d been dealing with.

          _Now then,_ they thought, stepping into the hallway. _Time to clean house._

          They walked to their nearest neighbor, and saw another assassin—not much for variety, these guys. Without a word, they blasted the intruder unconscious, letting the senseless form flop forward.

          A whimper caught Chara’s attention; on the bed, their neighbor looked confused and terrified, clinging to her blankets with a death grip. _Ah. Yes. These people. Well. Might as well make use of them._

          “Do you have your phone on you?” they asked, tone perfectly polite.

          Their neighbor blinked but finally nodded.

          “Text the police,” they ordered, before adding. “And then find some place to hide. Or climb out the window. Whichever is easier.”

          Chara left her to it, hoping she’d at least remember to summon the police before she had her panic attack in the closet.

          The first neighbor in the hall was crying into her hands as another assassin crept close. Just what had this man been up to? Well, no matter. Chara dropped him as easily as the last only to hear his dorm mate gasp. When they looked up, she fainted dead away.

          _Pathetic._

 _She’s scared,_ Asriel scolded. _She’s having a rough night._

_So am I, but you do not see me fainting._

_Oh, go back to your rampage. You were enjoying it more anyway._

Well. He had a point there.

          Going back out of the room, they walked back down the hall, further into the dorm. They came to the door just past their room, the last bedroom on this floor. The person inside had decided to shut the door behind him. No matter. With simple efficiency, they swung the door open by the knob and sent a wave of knife shaped bullets into the intruder, who whipped around at the sound of the door opening. **_1/65 HP. My, my. A tough guy._**

          There was a tiny noise coming from the bed; looking up, they saw another one of their dorm mates staring at them. “You should hide,” they announced before pausing. Lifting their hand, they pointed it at his head—he wore his hair long on top, tied back into a small ponytail, the sides of his head close shaven. “By the way. I like your hairstyle.”

          Their dorm mate blinked for a moment and then bolted straight out the window.

          _Rude._

_Is now **really** the time for small talk?_

          Chara smiled. _Az. You worry too much._

There was a creak on the floor behind them; whirling about they sent a wave of bullets out the door. Most of the bullets slammed into another intruder, her purple soul shuddering as she toppled to the floor. Chara turned to her and then frowned.

          **_5/50 HP,_** they noted and then tensed up. _Oh damn it-_

          The assassin lifted her head—dizzy eyed, head lolling, but she still gritted her teeth before she started to bellow. “HE’S HERE! THE PRINCE’S IN DISGUI-!”

          They had to stop themselves from launching _too_ many bullets at her. With her HP at one, she lost consciousness. Grimacing, Chara stepped out of the room, glancing towards the stairs.

          _Way to go. Now they’ll know something’s up._

_Oh, do not whine, Az._

_DON’T tell me not to whine! And I’m not whining! Chara, you’re going to get us killed or someone’s going to get hurt or-_

They snorted. No one had come downstairs yet, but there was definitely people walking around up there. So. They weren’t coming down to meet them—that would just mean that Chara had to go up there instead. _Afraid that Frisk will be disappointed in us?_

Instead of grousing about how he’d gotten over that crush _ages_ ago—thank you very much—Asriel surprised them with the venom in his tone. _If anyone gets hurt, it’ll be Papyrus disappointed in **you.**_

          They paused, fist clenched.

          _…sorry. That was uncalled for._

They breathed out their nose and went back to walking towards the stairs. _No, no. Touché. And all that._

_Just… just can we focus less on having fun and more about helping these people? I hate it when we have to fight._

They reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up. There was no one there, or at least no one they could see hiding in the shadows. But maybe they were at the top? They started to climb up, careful not to hit any of the spots that creaked. _That is why I am handling this. You can just sit back and relax._

_Relax? How can I relax at a time like this?_

_Easily. Just think of something else. I think I will shave the sides of my head and pull the rest back. Like our dorm mate. What do you think?_

_Damnit, Chara!_

Chara smiled at their other half’s exasperation but then paused just shy of the mouth of the stairs—just outside of it, they heard something shifting, making the floor groan softly. Their smile lost their mirth and they continued up the stair.

          The moment they stepped out of the stairwell, they heard the cock of a gun; instincts took over. Ducking down, they heard the thunder clap of the gun firing above their head. Somewhere in the dorm, someone screamed while another cried; above them, the assassin cursed. Before he could fire again, he hit the ground, the red knives vanishing along with his health.

          _Child’s play. Think of the scolding we would get if we were taken down by such sloppiness._

_Chara, focus, please._

          Their (literal) soul mate had a point; down this hall, doors flew open and people armed with guns stepped out. Quickly, they straightened and ran down the hall to meet them.

          It was a funny thing—monsters were always weak to a human’s physicality and their bloodlust. But in this day and age, where guns reigned supreme, a bullet fired from a gun wasn’t that much faster than a magic one hurtling from the toughest fighters, like either Papyrus or Undyne. With ease (and a little magic), they ducked around metal bullets, deflecting some with their own bullets, until the ground was littered with the unconscious forms of the intruders.

          Down the hall, only one door was closed. Inside, they could hear muffled sobbing and a sharp chiding. Well then.

          They straightened and stalked down the door, taking a moment to pause and examine a hole in their sleeve—one of the metal bullets had grazed it, but there was no blood. Still. _Shame. I liked this shirt._

_I’ll buy you a new one; now please focus._

_Honestly. No patience at all._ Rather than wait for a reply, they reached out and opened the door.

          As they thought, this assassin had grabbed the room’s occupant, a curvy girl, someone who was popular on campus with everyone, if they remembered right. The assassin had her with her arm trapped behind her back, a gun pointed at her head. From the look of him, Chara guessed that it wasn’t the head of the outfit—perhaps that one was still hidden, or Chara had already taken that one down. This one had panic behind his eyes as they darted wildly.

          “Whoever the fuck you are,” he gasped, wrenching the girl’s arm tighter, making her whimper, “stay the fuck away from me! You come any closer, and I swear, I’ll blow her head off!”

          Chara blinked. “So?”

          The assassin gaped.

          The hesitance cost him; as he gawked, Chara summoned a cloud of knives and sent them flying with a wave of their arm. The knives slammed into the assassin’s yellow soul, sending it flickering as he passed out—and into the green soul of the girl, who shrieked as a cut appeared on her neck.

          _Whoops._

_Whoops?! You cut her neck! Oh, god, Chara, help her!_

Cheeks a little warm, they patted their pockets. “Stop that. He’s unconscious. Now. If you give me a moment, I might have something to heal your-”

          “STAY AWAY!” she shrieked, sobbing. _“Don’t come near me!”_

          Chara paused, shoulders tight. _Rude._

_Well, you did **stab** her in the neck-_

_I also saved her. No excuses._

In the back of their mind, they heard Asriel sigh. As they planned to say something to him, they paused as the wails of sirens and the glare of red and blue lights poured in through the windows. Well, it appeared at least one of their dorm mates had made themselves useful and called for help. So, apparently they weren’t _all_ worthless.

 

 

 

          Hours later, they were still sitting uncomfortably in the President of the University’s office. They’d long since switched back to Asriel’s body, not just because they’d always found it more comfortable, but also to hide their human form from the reporters that had the audacity to sneak onto the school grounds in hopes of a scoop. At least Papyrus stood at attention by their side; he’d shown up as soon as they’d called and have even brought Mettaton with him—apparently, they and Frisk and Sans had been having a night out together. They would have been annoyed by the robot’s presence, but the moment he arrived, he instantly began to spin a story that put Chara in a noble and heroic light, pulling a camera out right then to start filming live.  The police had been furious to find their witness already giving an interview, but one look from Papyrus made them leery about bossing the robot around, not that it would have worked had Papyrus not been there.

          By the time their parents and Frisk arrived, it was a full blown media circus. Reporters were trying desperately to snatch up any witness they could, eager to find a new angle since Mettaton had poached the juiciest testimony already. The robot had since disappeared, eager to look for more people to interview and finding plenty of them, all willing to jump in front of the camera of one of the most famous monsters. Really, the only thing they were waiting on were the assassins’ return to consciousness so they could question them next.

          When their parents did arrive, Asriel handed the reins over wordlessly, leaving Chara to rise and accept their mother’s spine cracking hug. Their father wasn’t far behind and they bore the burden as well as they could until Frisk politely cleared their throat and reminded the royal family that the school heads were waiting to speak. As everyone started to settle into their positions, Chara noticed Frisk’s wan look and let Asriel take control to smile reassuringly at them. They noted the smile and took up a position at the princes’ free side, squeezing their shoulder for a moment before falling into a respectful position.

          “Now, this has been a… rough night for everyone,” the President began, looking weary and charmingly put upon. “And I’m grateful to note the good health of everyone present. But, to begin…”

          Chara listened with growing disinterest as the heads of the school, their parents, and Frisk began to argue back and forth. While the school was genuinely happy no one died, the officials were upset that Chara hadn’t contacted the police and had instead taken it upon themselves to fight the assassins, endangering the lives of their dorm mates in the process, traumatizing all of them. Their parents asked, almost snidely, if their children should have let the assassins run wild in the dorm until they figured out Chara’s trick or just decided to start killing anyway.

          By the end of it, one thing was very clear—despite the fact that they hadn’t hurt anyone “important”, the school heads were reluctant to let Chara and Asriel remain on campus. Asgore and Toriel were outraged, so Frisk had to take over. Eventually, Frisk managed to convince the university that it’d look very bad if the school insulted every monster in existence by expelling the princes, but that it would be best if the princes switched to online classes for the rest of the semester and probably the next as well. In the back of their head, Asriel felt sick with anguish, but Chara was more interested in finally getting to go to bed.

          It was almost dawn before everything was decided; Chara and Asriel were going home with their parents and Papyrus and the rest could be sorted out later.

          “It will be a tight fit in there,” Chara tried to warn their bodyguard as Asgore helped Toriel into the car. It was a very nice custom-made vehicle, built to accommodate full grown boss monsters—it honestly looked more like a semi truck tractor than a car, but they couldn’t really fault it.

          “I’ll be fine,” Papyrus answered primly.

          Frisk leaned over, voice quiet with mirth and exhaustion. “Just give up, dear. He’s not going to be letting you out of his sight for awhile.”

          They tried not to pout. “I did nothing wrong.”

          “You’re not being punished, Chara.”

          “Feels like it.”

          Frisk sighed and smiled kindly. “I know, love. Just bear with it. When you get home, he’ll calm down. A bit. You gave us all a nasty scare tonight.”

          “I suppose.” They paused and glanced back over to them with a confused expression. “How are you getting home? It really _is_ going to be very crowded in there.”

          “Sans.”

          Their brow knit together. “Sans? Is he here?”

          With an impish smile that clashed with the bags under their eyes, they pointed to a nearby bench. Sure enough, Sans sat on the bench, napping blissfully, hands folded over his stomach. Chara got the urge to hurl a rock at his skull.

          “Sleeping. As usual.” They glanced at Frisk. “When _did_ he get here?”

          “He’s been here the whole time. He was hanging outside the office, doing his job. When we got out, I saw him head out.” They paused, frowning at him. “He better not be actually sleeping. If he’s too sleepy to concentrate on teleporting properly, we’ll have to get our own ride home. I’m not helping him if he gets spliced with the bed again. Once we get home, I’m crashing.”

          Chara grimaced at the thought. “Perhaps I will manage to get a nap in on the way home.”

          “Good luck with that.”

          “Your highness,” Papyrus began, surprising them both. When they turned to look at the skeleton, he nodded to Asgore and Toriel, who were waiting in the vehicle. “We’re ready to go now.”

          “Speaking of good luck, enjoy the ride home,” Frisk said, turning to them again as Papyrus walked away, giving them a moment of privacy. “Not that you’ll probably want to, but you might have more room if you went with a more human shaped form, kiddo.”

          Chara sneered, baring their teeth. “Once was more than enough for one night. I will live with the discomfort.”

          “As you wish. Now, let me say good night to Asriel and I’ll let you guys get going.”

          Letting Asriel take control, Chara shifted to the back as Asriel grabbed Frisk for a hug. “Sorry for making you guys all come out here.”

          “Nonsense. For one, it wasn’t your or Chara’s fault. And two,” they began before giving one of his ears a playful tug, “it’s always a delight to see you.”

          He smiled tearfully as he pulled away. “Thanks, Frisk.”

          “Anytime, sweetheart.” They pressed one last kiss to the end of his nose before they stepped back. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

          “Okay.”

          They paused, eyes glittering with mischief. “Oh, before I forget. After you guys get going, make sure to ask Papyrus about his big news.”

          “What big news?” He asked curiously, already slipping back so Chara could handle the ride home with their parents—while he now got along better with their parents, a long car ride home would be torture for him. Better to let Chara take care of it.

          “You’ll both see. Bye, Chara, dear.”

          “Farewell,” they replied and then watched as Frisk walked over to Sans to prod him awake.

          Once they left, Chara turned around to find Papyrus and their parents waiting for them. They walked over and started to climb up into the cab of the vehicle before they remembered Frisk’s words. “Papyrus. Frisk said you had news?”

          “Hmm? Oh, yes, I do!” he began brightly, helping his princes up. “I’ve decided I’m going to become a father.”

          Chara’s foot promptly slipped from the step and they slammed their knee directly into the floor of the vehicle. While Papyrus and their parents fussed over them, they thought darkly to themselves. _An entire assassin crew tries to murder me in the middle of the night. But it is my bodyguard that manages to injure me the most._

_Wow, I haven’t seen you this clumsy in awhile. Try not to ruin our body, please._

_Shut up, Az._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's a little late; I had to redo the ending because it kept stalling out on me. While you aren't missing anything super important, I might save that part and post it as a bonus, like I did for some of the cut scenes in The World, Upside Down. This chapter was a request from kawaiiloverq who wanted to see Asriel and Chara dealing with some assassins. I've been meaning for ages to bring up the fact that Asriel and Chara can shift between forms, but I never had a good opportunity (Chara hates looking like a human if they don't need to) before now.
> 
> Alright, so I did the math a while ago and realized that I still have twenty plus requests to write--I probably won't get done until next April! For this reason, I'm thinking of officially closing requests (for at least the canonically part) by the end of December. That's the tentative deadline for now. So, if you have a request get it in soon, because you don't have all the time in the world.


	30. Take a sad song...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part one of two chapters.

            The first time Frisk visited Napstablook was two weeks after the Barrier fell. When the ghost saw Frisk standing outside their door, they froze in place for so long that Frisk had to clear their throat and greet them again. Slowly, the ghost shook themselves out of their shock and invited the human in. Once they were inside, the monster and human were equally at a loss at what to do or say, so they went right back outside and Napstablook showed Frisk the snail farm, which was surprisingly unchanged from their original’s world. After an awkward time together, Frisk left with the promise to return in two weeks. From the look Napstablook had given them, the monster seemed to doubt that.

            The look of surprise had been worth it when they returned in two weeks. That time, they stayed in the house and listened to the radio. Napstablook hated all of it and had a critique for everything until Frisk interrupted the complaints by speaking favorably of a guitar riff. When the ghost tried to question them, they admitted that they were something of a musician themselves. After that, Napstablook seemed so curious to see what they did or did not know that he forgot to be bitter and standoffish as they talked.

            Frisk had a hard time explaining to others, even Sans, why they went to see the Napstablook in the first place, let alone why they kept coming back. Despite the fact that Napstablook just wasn’t a terribly warm or friendly monster, nor even really like the shy, sweet ghost from their original’s world, they found themselves returning every now and then. Even after a few months, the relationship remained shallow at best, although Frisk had the odd sinking feeling that it might be one of the few good ones the ghost had at all. And yet, they kept going back.

            “It’s not that hard to see,” Sans told them bluntly after they said as much to him. “In case you haven’t noticed, but you tend to collect the hard luck cases and the outcasts. You’re like Papyrus and his damn cats.”

            They sat stock still for a moment before guilt washed over them which they then tried to hide with a thin smile. “That makes it sound like I’m targeting at-risk people for some nefarious scheme.”

            He rapped his knuckles against their shoulder. “I don’t mean it like _that,”_ he huffed a laugh. “In spite of your current popularity as our ambassador, you already know that humans won’t exactly be lining up to sing your praises. Your past still makes you feel like an outcast too.” He kindly doesn’t name the one monster in particular that threw them to the mercy of indifferent truth. “It’s just like seeking like, that’s all.”

            They hadn’t felt comforted by the words at first, but the next time they went to see Napstablook, they realized it felt at least close enough to the truth for closure. Just kindred spirits, comrades of sorts—that they could understand.

            The meetings got a little harder to schedule after they, along with many other monsters, started to leave the Underground. Napstablook, on the other hand, refused to go.

            “Aren’t you interested in the rest of the world at all?”they asked after most of a year had passed since the Barrier broke, leaning against the fence of the snails’ paddock.

            The ghost shrugged, an interesting trick seeing as they didn’t have shoulders, while focusing on levitating a scoop of food over to drop its contents into the bowls. “There’s nothing out there that I want that I can’t find here.”

            “How do you know what’s out there if you’ve never been out to see?”

            Frisk got the feeling they were rolling their eyes at the human. “Alright. There’s nothing I _need_ out there that I can’t find here.”

            In spite of the ghost’s stubbornness, the human had to smile. “If you say so.” They looked away for a moment, gazing down at the snails, but when they looked back up to speak, Frisk noticed that the ghost was staring off in the direction of their house—and the burnt out husk next to it. “You okay there?”

            “Hey,” they began, making Frisk blink. “You’ve seen a lot of monsters since you came here, right?”

            They snorted in amusement. “I’ve probably met at least half of the monsters down here, yeah.” They glanced at the monster. “If you mean one in particular, I’m going to need a little more than that though.” When the ghost didn’t immediately answer, they looked away. “I’ve met most of the Royal Guard, the Royal Scientist, and, of course, the Royal Family. The River Person, the librarian in Snowdin, the monsters who run the fish market in New Home. The Tems…um. You’re not missing anything if you don’t talk to those guys. Let’s see… I met a trio of Moldsmals that had started an interpretative dance group. That one was… interesting.”

            “Have you met any ghosts?”

            The question came so suddenly, they stared at the back of his translucent form before catching themselves. “Ah. Well, aside from the Training Dummy and Glad Dummy, yes, I have.”

            That got a reaction; Napstablook turned around, almost shyly, and gazed at them sidelong. “Were they… by chance were they…?”

            “Actually, that ghost went by ‘he’.”

            Napstablook whirled around and loomed at them, making them jerk back; still, it didn’t look like they were attacking, or even meaning to look unsettling. Their form shimmered as if they were shivering. “That’s him!”

            Frisk swallowed down their yelp of surprise gamely. “A friend of yours I take it?”

            The ghost paused and turned away again. “My cousin.” They seemed to mull something over and turned took back at the wreckage next to their own house. “We… used to be very close.”

            Frisk wasn’t terribly surprised; not only had Napstablook and Mettaton been close in their world, but also family seemed to hold a high level of important in this world. “Was, uh, was that his house over there?”

            Napstablook sighed and perched on the fence of the paddock, curling their body up less like they was hunching up and more like they were trying to turn into a blob. “I was so mad after he left and his house was always there, like it was mocking me. Every single morning, I’d walk out and I had to walk pass it every day to get to do my chores. I just… I got really angry one day and I was so sick of it standing there, like it was still waiting for him. So, I burnt it.”

            They resisted the urge to inform the ghost that that was exactly what they had assumed. No need to be smug; instead, they twisted around so they could brace their back against the fence. “Did it help?”

            “At first, yeah. It felt great, watching it just disappear. It was like… well, if he wasn’t here for me to yell at, at least I could do something with the junk he left behind. And it was nice, not having to see that dumb house every morning.” They petered out, shifting uneasily. “But then, after awhile, I realized I had to look at the wreckage instead.” They growled. “Even when it was gone, it was still an eyesore! It was so— _so-!”_

            “Frustrating?” They offered; after a moment, the ghost nodded. They nodded in turn, knowingly. “Is that why you wrote stuff on the walls inside?”

            Napstablook sighed. “It’s funny… he used to tell me that bottling up your emotions was bad. I tried it out a couple times… it helps, you know, but only for a little while. Then you go right back to how you were before.”

            Gazing at them, Frisk had to smile, just a little. _Poor Blooky. No wonder they’re so bitter._ “Usually letting out your emotions helps best when you do something productive with it. Like talking to the person how made you feel that way in the first place. Or channeling it into something else, like cleaning, or art, or something.” They smiled wryly. “Did I ever tell you that I was an angry little shit as a kid?”

            They knew that the ghost was staring now. “You were?”

            “Mmmhmm. Had to go talk to some therapists for it. To help me work through it, they had me take up the piano again.” They smiled at the ghost. “It helped a lot more than clobbering the shit out of kids who got me angry.”

            Napstablook blinked at them, looked like they would speak once, twice, then paused and looked at the ground. “You don’t seem that way now.”

            “I’d hope so. It’s been over a decade now and having a bad temper isn’t very helpful in my line of work.”

            They were quiet, perhaps mulling it over in their heads. “Do you still play piano?”

            “Yeah. Actually, I’ve been helping the princes learn how to play.” They grinned. “It’s surprisingly fun, teaching others like someone once taught me.”

            “…nicer than hitting other people, I suppose.”

            They looked at the ghost, smile wry and sympathetic. “On the whole, I’d say so.”

            The ghost was quiet for a while before they looked back up at the ambassador. “My cousin… how’s he doing?”

            Well, well. What would Mettaton say about this—his cousin wanted to know how he was doing? Would the robot be pleased by this, or would he not want them to breathe a word of the truth? They still had nightmares sometimes of that fight Alphys had forced them both into, of Napstablook calling in and mocking the broken robot, telling him to kill himself right then and there before hanging up. They dreamed that sometimes they didn’t make it in time to stop him, that they had to watch him die in a fiery explosion; sometimes other people were there in those dreams, people like Flowey or Asriel or Chara or Sans or Papyrus, that they got caught in the explosion and they had to watch them dissolve into dust. Those nightmares still weren’t the worst things they dreamed of, but they felt safer to whisper in the dark shadows of night, after Sans shook them awake.

            So. Quite the conundrum. After a moment, they decided to go with a smaller truth. “He’s doing fine. Chasing his dreams.” That was true—Mettaton got special permission from Asgore and Toriel themselves along with several political figures to be one of the first monsters to enter human society. He’d made a giant splash, just as Frisk had predicted. He’d been drumming up goodwill for monsters while delighting everyone with his extravagant shows. They’d rarely seen anyone so happy in their entire life, and they were ecstatic for him for every moment of it.

            To their surprise, Napstablook looked up sharply and lurched forward again. “Really?!”

            They resisted the urge to lean back and blinked up at the monster. “Well, yes. He isn’t the type to give up.”

            “N-no, I knew that…” they paused, glancing away. “It’s just, you know…” they huffed, surprising Frisk again as they sat up more. “With that idiot always on tv, my cousin must have been struggling really hard!”

            Frisk’s jaw dropped. “Huh?”

            Napstablook turned to glare at them. “ _Mettaton_. I know that idiot’s your friend, but even you got to have heard how he’s always chasing away anyone who he sees as competition. My cousin’s probably still looking for work because of that guy.”

            Silence for a long, long moment.

            _Oh my god,_ they thought, ever eloquent. _Oh my god. Napstablook hates Mettaton because they think Mettaton’s not letting… Mettaton… be a big star._

 _Oh, that’s just. Wow._ Distantly, they wondered if this meant that the reason Napstablook had been so venomous to Mettaton during that live call-in was also exactly for this. _Napstablook wanted Mettaton to kill himself because they thought Mettaton was being mean to Mettaton. Jesus fuck, this is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. Even if it is… **vaguely** … sweet? Ah hell, what do I even do with this information?_

At a loss, they coughed delicately, looking away so Napstablook wouldn’t see how wide their baffled eyes were. “His ego is, uh… it can be a bit… harmful? To others?” _And himself apparently. Jesus Christ and all the saints, what a shitshow._

            “Exactly,” Napstablook groused, still irritated before glancing at Frisk sidelong again. “My cousin… is he really doing okay?”

            What to say to that? Best to go with the half truth. “Uh, yeah, last I saw him. He found work and he was enjoying it.”

            “Oh,” they murmured, not sounding exactly happy, but also not angry either. “That’s… well. It’s what he wanted.” They paused, squinting at the ground in a heatless glare. “Asshole.”

            Frisk considered them before glancing away. Just how much should they meddle in this? Mettaton had asked after his cousins before, but that didn’t mean Frisk had carte blanche to do what they wanted.

            There was nothing for it; they would just have to ask Mettaton point blank to see if he wanted to try and reach out to his cousin. Until then, they would keep their mouth shut.

            Sans arrived not long after that to teleport them home; even he raised his eyebrow ridges to see Napstablook’s completely nonhostile farewell as they left. “Well, shit. Did you actually manage to talk that asshole around into being a decent monster instead of a little shit?” he asked, his voice loud enough to carry; they hoped Napstablook didn’t hear as the ghost went into their house again.

            “Star of my skies, people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,” they answered bluntly as they walked over.

            “Ouch.”

            They kissed his temple once they were by his side. “Sorry, love, but we both know that neither of us have much of leg to stand on when it comes to not being shitheads.”

            “You’re being kind, honestly.”

            They smiled and prodded his cheekbone, still delightfully weirded out when it gave with the slightest bit of squish to it. “Even though I called you a shithead?”

            “Well, it’s pretty apt.”

            “You’re trying to butter me up for some reason,” they accused him with a grin. When he didn’t deny it, they laughed. “Anyway, I’m not that nice. I’m just polite and sneaky enough to hide it.”

            “Whatever. Isn’t supposed to be rude to deny a compliment?”

            “Using my own words against me,” they sighed dramatically. “Rude.” They paused to look at him. “And you still didn’t deny that you’re buttering me up for some reason.”

            “All I want is for you to hurry up and come home,” he answered instantly before his permanent grin turned a little sheepish. “And to help me convince Papyrus that we should all eat out.”

            They frowned. “He’s been wanting to try making that new recipe for a while now.”

            “Yeah, but he’s already tried twice and he was still burning stuff. If we don’t eat out, there’s not going to be anything edible when we get home.”

            “Oh, honestly, how do you know all that? Did you skip off home for something?”

            He shot them a flat look, actually looking a tad insulted at the idea he would abandon his post of looking after them—not that he hadn’t done that by napping more than once. “He called asking me to pick up more ingredients. I’m telling you, we got to convince him to cut our losses or we’re just not eating dinner.”

            They sighed and pushed the hair out of their face. “Oh, alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

            “Glad you’re seeing reason, babe.” He reached out and snaked his arm around their waist, pulling them close so they could teleport home.

            As they wrapped an arm around his shoulders, they paused thoughtfully. “After dinner, remind me to call Mettaton.”          

            “That idiot? Didn’t you just talk to him?”

            “Jealous?” they grinned, poking the corner of his eye.

            He swatted their hand away. “Of what? Nah. Hold on, I’m getting us back to the house.”

            Quickly, they reached out with their free hand to grab his other shoulder, but even as they blinked out of the Underground and back into their home, they were still mulling over the same question. Would Mettaton want them to intercede for him with Napstablook?

            There was only one way to find out.

 

 

 

 

            After a dinner of Texas styled barbeque, which Papyrus only agreed to after Frisk promised to teach him how to make pancakes, they sat down on the bench on their balcony and called Mettaton’s number. It was a long shot—he was probably busy doing something—but even he needed to either consume monster food or take a break to recharge his batteries. Taking the risk, they waited as they listened to their phone ring and ring.

            It was something of a surprise when Mettaton actually picked up. _“Frisk, darling, hello!”_

            “Whoa. Hi, Mettaton,” they chirped with a laugh. “I thought I was just going to have to leave a message on your phone.”

            _“Would you rather do that?”_ he teased.

            “If it’s all the same, I’d rather talk to the real deal. Call it time sensitive.”

            _“Oh ho ho, is this important? An invitation maybe or bit of gossip for my show?”_

             Frisk winced at the idea of Napstablook going onto Mettaton’s show, especially with their extreme bias to the monster they were assuming was ruining their cousin’s chance at a career. “Uh. No. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you _definitely_ don’t want to mention it on your show.”

            There was a small pause. _“Oh? Well, I’ll admit, you have my attention now.”_

            They chuckled mirthlessly, popping their eyebrows and pressing their tongue into their cheek as they thought, but then shrugged. “I talked to Napstablook today.”

            A far longer pause; the sound of high heels clacking on a floor, then the faint click of a door being locked, before more walking that came to a halt finally. _“Alright. What did you talk about?”_

            They chewed on their bottom lip, at a loss before deciding to just bulldoze straight through the awkwardness. “You. Uh, look, there’s no delicate way to put this, but for one, I can definitely say that they have no idea that you’re their cousin. And for two, well, I know why they was so… vicious when they called you after our ‘fight’.”

            Pause. _“Give me a moment. I… I need a drink.”_

            God, that sounded like a great idea. Why hadn’t they thought of that themselves? Oh, right, it was because Drunk Frisk was an idiot who got them in trouble and threw up on public bathrooms’ floors and in bushes. “Yeah, you take your time. Just… tell me when you’re ready.” They listened for a while as Mettaton poured liquids into different things, shook something up, and finally poured it; they knew he could only drink monster beverages, but they had no idea if he could become inebriated.

            Finally, they heard a creak of a chair as Mettaton sat down. _“Alright. Now, I love drama as well as the next celeb, but let’s take it from the top and no frills, please.”_

            “Well, you know that I talk to Napstablook every few weeks or so when I go back down into the Underground. I was with them today and we got to talking about, well, you. Their cousin you, not robot you. They have no idea that you’re a robot and that you’re a celebrity. They’re still pretty bitter and miffed, but they were relieved when I said I knew you were doing well and I think they miss you, their cousin. Enough to be a little protective at least.”

            Mettaton seemed to be mulling their words over. _“Protective how? And what does that have to do with them not hating me as a celebrity?”_

            “Well, they think their ghost cousin is still trying to get his big break as a star. But they also heard that you’ve been, uh, discouraging competition-”

            _“I have, but that’s beside the point.”_

            They paused, half certain that they should really scold him, but that really wasn’t the point right now. “Well, they think their cousin hasn’t appeared on tv yet because you’ve blocked their debut.”

            Déjà vu struck them as a long silence fell again.

_“Blooky hates me… because he thinks I’m what’s keeping **myself** from becoming a hit on tv?”_

            “Yeah, that’s about the whole of it.”

            There was a very long silence, during which Frisk began to long for a stiff drink of their own. Finally, Mettaton spoke. _“Well. That’s just—dandy.”_

            “Yeah.”

            _“Just… great, really!”_ The annoyance was starting to build behind the bright tone.

            Frisk glanced unevenly to their left, which was the side of their head they were holding their phone on. “Irony’s a bitch.”

            _“No fucking shit!”_ Mettaton nearly roared causing them to wince as they pulled the phone away just in time to avoid being deafened. They held the phone from their head as the robot began to curse—about Napstablook, about irony, about reality in general until his curses turned into sickly annoyed laughter and then into tears. _“This,”_ he groaned, _“is unbelievable! If this was in one of my scripts, I’d keep it in because it’s just so awful and that’s great television, but this is real life and real life sucks!”_

            He was babbling at this point, but they could sympathize. “I know. I nearly keeled over when I heard it myself.”

            They had half expected a full on meltdown, a real diva moment, and they would have thought it justified. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath and then another and another until his breathing was a little less ragged and a lot more steady. _“Okay. Okay this is…”_

            “A lot?” they offered.

            _“A lot, yes. But… but maybe… You said the reason why they disliked me—robot me—was because they think that I’m keeping their cousin from getting into show business.”_

            “Yeah.”

_“Well, I suppose that does make… some sense. Actually, yes. Back when our family was closer, all of us could be very defensive of the others. It happens a lot.”_

            It was, they were happy to note, usually how most monsters families were, or rather a majority were. Loyalty made up a large portion of their culture and usually it was loyalty to the family that came first. Their families usually were what kept families alive, each member watching each other’s back once the fighting started. Even Monster Kid’s family turned out to be that way once Frisk met them when they’d taken Asriel over on a play date.

 _“When we started to… go our separate ways as we got older, that was,”_ his voice halted, sounding brittle. To be honest, this was the perhaps the most they’d ever heard of his past—Mettaton was always close lipped about his history when they’d been a child. He’d like to claim it added mystery to his allure, but he always dodged questions about it, even when they were only well meant. This world’s Mettaton, however, his story had to be different—whatever haunted his past, they had no idea what it was. _“It was hard on Blooky. They got to be very to be very prote… no. They became co-dependent.”_ Frisk winced, out of sympathy for who, they had no idea; Mettaton went on, unaware of their nonverbal reaction. _“They took our cousins’ decisions to leave very hard. They were scared often, for themselves, our cousins, for me, but probably **mostly** because they always hated change.”_

            “Which explains why they haven’t left the Underground yet.”

            Mettaton huffed a laugh. _“Ugh, it does.”_ He paused, before continuing, voice softer. _“They began to worry that I was going to leave them too. Back then, I never believed I could really get what I wanted. Well,”_ he added, voice dry and caustic, _“not that it happened quite the way I wanted.”_ He and Alphys had been getting along much better, at times Frisk thought might even have gotten as far as having inside jokes or similar thoughts about things, but then other times they seemed bitter and hostile—not all that dissimilar to Mettaton’s and San’s relationship really. Perhaps he just had that effect on people. “ _But with Blooky’s anxiety and their… everything, it got to be a… a strain. You know?”_

             Frisk felt their jaw set, their teeth clenching. Back before they ran away from home, they too had felt penned in. They had drawn away from everyone, winding tighter and tighter in their despair and not having a way to explain to them what their problem was—that Sans was right, they could ruin everything, but their friends and family would never believe that. Pulling away only made people like their parents and Papyrus try to reach for them more. Despite the fact that Frisk and Mettaton’s situations weren’t the same—flipped, perhaps, but not the same—they could remember that confusion and desperation in those attempts to reach them.

            Yeah. Frisk knew it. “It’s suffocating. You start to feel like you’re drowning.”

            _“Yes! Yes, that’s it exactly!”_ They sighed. _“It’s not popular, you know, to have dramas were the families split up for reasons like this. Those plots never test well with monster audiences. You have to save it for cliffhangers that you have to resolve quickly.”_

            They understood what he meant by that—especially in this world’s culture of monsters, with loyalty so highly prized, monsters didn’t want to see it on television, but the truth was they probably needed it. Mettaton and maybe even a younger Frisk could have used a show with that message. Maybe then, someone might feel less like a fuck up for feeling that way. But then, in their original’s world, monsters were strongly averse to seeing negative emotions, especially anything to do with violence or depression—for them, the fear of losing hope was so intense, they were almost borderline manic in their attempt to appear happy and hopeful.

            They adored monsters, but sometimes they clung to strange ideas and hated it when reality or even fiction proved them wrong.

            “Yeah,” they murmured at last. “I can understand that.”

            He sighed on the other side of the line before finally speaking again. _“Thank you for telling me.”_

            “I thought you deserved to know. I… I don’t know what you’ll do with it, but… but I thought you deserved it.”

            _“No, thank you, Frisk. I really do appreciate it.”_ He sighed again. _“I’ll… think about this later. I got work to do in a bit.”_

            “Oh, god, I didn’t drop this on you right before you were going to go on camera, did I?”

            He laughed. _“No, no, darling, you’re fine. I’m still on hiatus before my new show starts up, but that’s over in two weeks, so I still have a lot of work to do.”_ He paused. _“I’m happy you told me though. I just. I need to think about what I’m going to do… with all this.”_

            “Of course. Whatever you do decide though, I’ll willing to help however I can.”

            _“Thank you, darling.”_

 

 

 

 

            Two days after calling Mettaton, Frisk nearly jumped a clear foot into the air from the couch when the front door nearly shot off its hinges as it swung open. Their dignity was only salvaged by the fact that Asriel jumped just as high as his pencil and math worksheets went flying as well, while Sans fell out of his chair, a protective thicket of bones appearing around Frisk and Asriel as he sat up, still half asleep. Papyrus came racing out of the kitchen only to relax for a half second before he became star struck again.

            “Hello, my beauties!” Mettaton crowed. “The star has arrived!”

            Papyrus and Frisk both called his name in delight, Frisk looking amused while Papyrus looked ecstatic. Asriel peeked over the back of the couch, cautious as he watched the robot. Usually, wherever the robot was, explosions were sure to follow, which was great on tv, but not so great in real life when it could be his house going up in flames. Sans just glared and pulled himself up into the chair, only banishing the bones when Frisk pointedly called his name.

            Frisk stood to greet him properly, although they had to wait until Papyrus was done getting his hug from the robot before they could get theirs. It took a bit of pestering, but after some silly evasions, he proclaimed that he’d been in their neck of the woods and had decided to drop in and visit.

            “Invade more like it,” Sans grumbled quietly enough that only Asriel heard him and even the prince could silently agree to that—silently because he’d never give the skeleton the satisfaction of knowing he agreed with him on anything.

            Still, Mettaton was invited in and because Papyrus had just started to prepare for dinner, he insisted he wanted to see Papyrus’s thrilling cooking techniques. That seemed to only rile Papyrus up more and before anyone knew it, he was cooking with gusto. Everyone was in the kitchen to watch; Mettaton looked positively delighted and kept egging him on while Asriel stood on the other side of Papyrus, looking equally as excited, although that was mostly because he got to man the fire extinguisher tonight.

            “He’s going to burn the goddamn house down at this rate,” Sans grumbled, watching as Asriel had to leap into action, spraying down the pot again. He and Frisk were still by the doorway, Sans leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded in front of his chest. Frisk leaned against the wall next to him, phone in hand just in case they needed to call the fire department—they had the department on permanently saved into the phone and were now on a first name basis with the entire station. They’d even been considering giving the station a nice fruit basket for Christmas as thanks for saving their house nearly three dozen times.

            “Our insurance premiums are going to go through the roof,” they agreed, watching as Mettaton laughed and Papyrus pouted as his fire went out again.

            “Just what is _he_ doing here anyway?”

            Frisk glanced at him. “You sound like Undyne.” Undyne was not particularly fond of the robot, especially considering how catty he could act around Alphys, not that she cared if it was justified or not.

            He huffed. “As much as it pains me to say it, sometimes fish face has a point.”

            “Why so suspicious, husband mine?”

            The nickname distracted him for a moment, but not as long as they’d hoped. He leaned closer to them, so they closed the gap, making their arm rest against his shoulder. “He’s acting off. Like he’s trying to put up a smokescreen.”

            “That doesn’t mean he means any harm,” they replied, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his skull. “You play your cards close to your chest too.”

            He shot them a look, his grin fond. “That’s rich coming from you.”

            They grinned back. “We should play poker again and we can find out who plays their cards better.”

            “Every time we play poker, you turn it into strip poker and then you lose on purpose just to have an excuse to sit around naked for the rest of the night.”

            It was true—they loved having an excuse to be as naked as a jaybird. They blamed it on the month they spent visiting friends in a nudist colony. It was hard to go back to clothes after freedom like that unless their dysmorphia started acting up. “You have me dead to rights. But,” they prodded his skull with a finger, “it’s not like you mind it when I do.”

            “Nudist,” he shot back, unfolding his arms to reach for them.

            “Pervert,” they teased as his hand rested firmly on the curve of their ass.

            “Dead to rights.” The two paused, watching as a new fire reached up to scorch the ceiling. “We should probably stop them now.”

            With a sigh, Frisk opened up their contacts and scrolled through to find the fire department number. Again.

 

 

 

            Luckily, the fire department didn’t need to head out to save their house—instead Mettaton bought them take out and even slipped Frisk some money as an apology for the new scorch marks on the ceiling. The day passed quickly as they sat around, eating gyros while a breeze blew in through the windows in the vain hope of drawing the smoke out, until evening came and Mettaton stood to leave.

            “While I hate to abandon such a darling group of faces, I’m afraid I must get back to the studio. Duty calls!”

            “You know what they say,” Frisk began, turning in their chair to face him, “always leave your audience wanting more.”

            Mettaton beamed at them. “Yes, exactly! You know, darling, one day I’m going to drag you from that stuffy job and make you part of my act. You too, Papyrus,” he said, swiftly leaning down to press a kiss to Papyrus cheek as he started to stand—it was a good thing he’d been gripping the table and his chair because his knees promptly went wobbly. “One day, I really must have you on one of my cooking shows! My audience would love your flair.”

            “Like he needs the encouragement,” Sans muttered, quiet enough that neither Mettaton nor Papyrus heard.

            Frisk did though, so they kicked him under the table. He kicked back. Just to be coy, they hooked their foot behind his ankle and started dragging it upward, shifting his pant leg up and making him squirm. Frisk was grinning at Sans’ reaction until they saw the confused look on Asriel’s face. They cleared their throat to catch his attention. “I do believe you still have homework to do.”

            “I’m almost done,” he retorted. “My shows will be on soon.”

            “Mm, well, I’d like to have a look at your math sheets first before then, okay?”

            He sighed and stood. “Okay.”

            They jerked their head to their side. “Come here first.” Once he walked over, they ruffled the fur on top of his head and blew a raspberry against his cheek making him giggle and laugh. “Go do your homework, please.”

            “Alright,” he giggled before scrambling away.

            “Children’s shows,” Mettaton announced as the prince ducked out of the room. “You’d be good on those, I think,” he said, pointing at Frisk. “I’ve yet to see a child hate you.”

            “You don’t see me with children often,” they laughed, standing as well.

            “I have,” Papyrus interrupted, drawing their attention. “And they really do seem to like you.”

            “Children shows for Frisk, cooking for Papyrus,” Mettaton said thoughtfully, like he was planning it all already.

            “And what kind of shows shall Sans do?” Frisk asked, eyes glittering in delight.

            “Poker,” Mettaton answered. “Or comedy.”

            Sans and Frisk shared a look. “I do like poker,” he said evenly.

            It took everything Frisk had not to burst out laughing.

            After some more talking, the group finally migrated to the door, Frisk and Papyrus standing next to Mettaton while Sans leaned against the couch. After a lengthy goodbye, in which Mettaton turned to Frisk for a hug. “Goodbye, lovely. Call me later.”

            Frisk frowned as they felt something—paper?—being slid into the back pocket of the baggy shorts they liked to wear around the house. Despite their curiosity, they kissed his cheek goodbye and waved when he left.

            “He put something in your back pocket,” Asriel announced, watching them curiously. Firsk wondered if they should talk to him about commenting on something a person obviously had meant to be done without comment, but when they looked around they saw that Papyrus and Sans looked just as curious.

            Well. Actually, they were pretty curious too—they reached into their pocket and pulled out an envelope. They blinked at it and opened it up to find a piece of paper inside.

            “A letter,” Papyrus said aloud, frowning. “Why would he write you a letter?”

            “Maybe because it’s supposed to be private,” they said pointedly, but when they opened the letter and looked at the first line, they flipped the paper closed again and shoved it unceremoniously into the envelope.

            “Why are you-?” Sans began.

            “It’s not for me,” they answered abruptly, putting the envelope into a pocket.

            “Then why give you the letter?” Asriel asked, looking even more baffled.

            “It’s for a mutual friend,” they said and put their hands on their hips. “And it’s best left private. He probably just wants me to give it to that person and that’s all. Boys, Chara,” they added with a frown. “Leave it alone.” They pointed at Sans. “That especially goes for you.” Then they pointed it to Asriel. “And for Chara as well. It’s not our business.”

            “But he _gave_ it to you,” Asriel insisted, but he was already sitting back, the fight going out of him instantly.

            “I’ll ask him about it later.” They shook their finger at Sans. “Leave it.”

            He held his hands up. “I’m not _that_ curious about that guy. Why don’t you scold Papyrus, he’s the one likes him so much.”

            “I AM _NOT_ A SNOOP!” Papyrus snapped, his skull scarlet. “If Frisk says we shouldn’t look, than I’m not going to! And furthermore, neither should you.” He tugged on his shirt to resettle it then straightened. “Now, I’m going to go do something useful, like the dishes.”

            “Speaking of doing something useful, Asriel, I want to see your homework before your shows come on,” they announced, walking over to sit beside him on the couch. “Hand ‘em over, kiddo.”

            “If we’re all doing ‘useful things’ then what will Sans’ do?” Asriel asked entirely too innocently as he handed up his math sheets. Frisk would bet good money that the question was actually one of Chara’s comments, just to needle the skeleton.

            To his credit, Sans didn’t rise to the bait and instead walked over to the recliner. He promptly dropped into it and kicked up his feet, closing his eyes and looking cozy. “Nap.”

            Asriel shot him a disgruntled look while Frisk tried not to chuckle. But when the prince turned his head to look up at Frisk, it was Chara’s eyes peering out from their face. “I think Mettaton means for you to read it.”

            “Chara,” Frisk murmured by way of greeting, looking over the worksheet. Multiplication. This they could handle—once the kids hit geometry and trigonometry, they wouldn’t be of much use. They had to enjoy this little tutor time for now. “And why do you think that?”

            “Why would he not seal the envelope if he did not mean for you to read it?”

            Frisk blinked. That was actually a very good point. Still, they didn’t need to encourage Chara’s curiosity too much, or they would have the kid rooting around in their stuff again. When they had moved, they had all discovered Chara poking their nose around in other people’s boxes—they meant no harm, but they also sometimes need a firm reminder to respect others and their property. “Well, if he did, I’ll talk to him later about it. Until then, I’m just going to hold onto it for him.”

            “But what if it is important?”

            “Then he would have told me about it outright. By the way, you guys need to slow down and recheck your answers. I think you managed to skip one answer and now you’ve got every answer correct to the question before each and not the current one.” They handed the sheet back, pointing at the problem.

            The children groaned and got to work, copying their answers into the right places. While they were busy, Frisk tapped the letter against their leg and tried to think. Did Mettaton want them to read it? They could reasonably guess so, but then what? Did he want them to deliver it, or talk him out of it? Knowing him, it could go either way. Glancing down at the letter, they resigned themselves to just calling him and finding out for themselves.

 

 

 

 

            _“Did you read it?”_

            Frisk paused, frowning thoughtfully down at the letter in their hand as they sunk down onto the bed. Sans was still asleep in the chair downstairs, so the bedroom was all their own for the moment. They used it as their chance to call Mettaton. “Actually, I wanted to ask about it. Did you _want_ me to read this?”

            There was a sigh on the other end, not his usual overdramatic sigh, but one that struck them as fretful, an odd tone from him. _“I just… want you to tell me if I’m making a giant mistake or not. I just-! I don’t know what I’m doing.”_

            And they were supposed to know? To be fair, they hadn’t told anyone but Sans about the rift between them and their friends and family back home; monster kind on the whole just took it for granted that a human that appeared out of nowhere, offering help, and then wouldn’t head back home after awhile. Humans seemed more interested in Frisk’s origins than monsters were. “Well,” they said at last, “I can read it for you, if you want, and tell you what I think afterwards. Would that help?”

_“Oh, yes, please do!”_

            “Alright, just let me call you back and I’ll-”

_“Oh, don’t bother hanging up. It’s a short letter.”_

            Frisk paused—he managed to say all that he wanted to in just a short letter? Well, if he didn’t mind waiting, they could probably skim it real fast. “Ah, okay. I’m going to set the phone down for a little bit. Shall I put you on speaker?”

            _“Don’t worry about that! Just read!”_

            “Bossy,” they teased, pulling the letter out of the envelope.

            _“Read!”_ he called again as they sat the phone on the bed.

            Opening the letter, Frisk looked at the first line again. _Blooky,_ it began simply, but looking at the paper, Frisk could see a deep indent around that word, as if Mettaton had written and rewritten the beginning over and over again, ripping out the paper each time and starting fresh, the pen pressing harder each time.

            _Blooky,_

_Long time no see, cuz! It’s been, what, over a year now since I left? How’s the farm doing? Is my favorite little racer still zipping along? Did you sell my house or do you just use it as storage? Just kidding—whatever you do with it, it’s all up to you now._

_Frisk told me some about how you’re doing, that you’re still Underground. What are you still doing down there? It’s so boring there! You should bring the snails and come see some the scenery. Get out and live a little, Blooky! I always told you life was too short to stay in one place forever._

_Speaking of going places, did Frisk tell you? I’m in Hollywood now—that’s where humans make all their movies and shows, like the ones I used to bring home from the Dump. Remember how we’d sit in front of my tv, watching all that stuff? Well, I’m making it now! I told you I’d fulfill my dreams one day. You should be proud of me. I’m not on tv just yet, but I’m going to be on there with my own show shortly. You’d hardly recognize me_

            Frisk snorted. That was an understatement if there was one. The letter went on, but not by much more, and all in the same cheerful, airy tone that left Frisk cold as they read. There was nothing definite in the letter—Mettaton never touched on anything that seemed either like an apology or condemnation, not even the bit about his house, which Frisk distinctly remembered warning him was gone now. It was like he was trying his hardest not to step on toes, which was just so not him. He hadn’t even asked Napstablook about what they’d been doing in the meantime.

            It felt cold, heartless, and infuriating—and exactly like something they would have written back when they were eighteen and running away from home. They’d kept their messages short, cheerful, and bland. Just enough to let their family and friends know that they were alive, but not enough to explain anything or say whether they’d decided to head home yet.

            It felt like hypocrisy when they picked up the phone with a mirthless smile. “I read it.”

            _“Is it okay?”_ Mettaton asked bluntly, words shooting out of the speaker fast.

            “Well, it sounds like you’re trying to dance around the situation,” they answered bluntly. “But to be honest, you are, so I’m not sure if you can fix that.”

            Mettaton sighed. _“That’s what I thought. I just don’t know what to_ say, _though. ‘Sorry I haven’t called you in a long time, but the last time we talked on the phone, you told me to kill myself’? That ‘oh, hey, you know that handsome robot celebrity you hate? Well, that’s me now, isn’t life funny’?”_

            Frisk winced, slipping the letter back into the envelope. “Yeah, I definitely understand. Well, if you ignore that point, then uh. Yeah, there’s nothing really wrong with it. It just sounds… insincere.”

            _“And wishy washy. But I couldn’t think of anything better!”_

            Frisk considered the envelope. “Still. It might be a good starting point for the two of you. Get the lines of communication open. Just… well, don’t expect them to be super thrilled. They might not want to respond right away.” If at all. Still, no need to shoot down his hopes—if he really had any to begin with.

_“That’s what I thought. Look, just… just give it to them the next time you go down there. They can decide on their own what they want to do with it.”_

            They found themselves nodding as they pushed the hair back from their face. “I can do that. And Mettaton? Even if they aren’t happy about this,” they smiled softly. “Well, I think you’re pretty brave to do it.”

            There was a pause on the other end of the line; when Mettaton spoke, it was in a soft, warm voice. _“Thank you, Frisk.”_

 

 

 

 

            Frisk didn’t see Napstablook for another month; during that time, they had to hide the letter from Sans and Chara, who had become really curious about it. It got to the point that Frisk had to scold them both before they took a chance and hid the letter in Papyrus’s room after he made a solemn oath to not peek at the contents. When the month was up, Papyrus returned the letter—unread—to them and they went down into the Underground for the monthly inspection on the hold out monsters and the general state of the Underground. Sans came with them for the trip but had decided to hang around the Dump to give them privacy—besides, it wasn’t like he was that fond of the ghost either.

            When they started to head towards Napstablook’s house, feet sensibly clad for once in galoshes, they tapped the letter against their palm and wondered what the ghost would say once they saw who the letter was from. They caught the letter in their fingers, lips thinned into a grim line that turned into a smile once they saw the ghost floating towards the snails’ paddock.

            Quickly, they stuffed the enveloped into an pocket hidden in their inside of their coat. “Good afternoon,” they called at the ghost, startling the ghost who turned to them, their grimace looking particularly pinched.

            “Shh!”

            Frisk paused, hands held up submissively. “Something wrong?” they asked softly after a drawn out moment of silence.

            “The two _Helix pomatia_ snails, Sheldon and Mary, need quiet!” they hissed, floating over to drift besides them. “Do you know how long it took me to shoo the other snails away so they could have some alone time?”

            Frisk blinked. “…are you breeding snails?”

            Napstablook straightened up and glared at them. “D-don’t be gross! Just because I hoped they’d make a good match, it’s not like I’m forcing them to like each other. If they have a clutch or two of eggs… that’s their business.”

            They should have seen that defensiveness coming—even the Napstablook of their original’s world could be very particular about the snails on the farm. “Right. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to assume anything.”

            The ghost shot them a disbelieving look but turned and floated towards their house. “Well, come on. Those two want their privacy.”

            “Yes, of course.” Frisk followed them into the house, feeling intensely aware of the letter in their coat. Once they stepped inside, they busied themselves for a moment with scraping the mud off their galoshes while Napstablook drifted towards his computer.

            “So, what do you want?” the ghost asked, tone short, but considering their less than stellar beginning, far from hostile.

            “Oh, the usual. Checking to see how everything is around here.” The letter felt like it was burning a hole into their pocket as they reached in to pull it out. “Actually, there’s one other thing. I got a letter here for you.”

            Napstablook blinked at them. “A letter? Who from?”

            Frisk held it out to them. “A mutual friend of ours.”

            The ghost frowned and drifted over, taking the letter in their telekinetic grip to open it up and read it. Frisk watched as the ghost skipped past the body of the letter and could even pinpoint the exact moment when Napstablook spotted his cousin’s name at the bottom of the letter.

            The ghost went stock still. A long minute passed, then two, their eyes never moving upward to look through the letter; their gaze was focused only on the signature at the bottom.

            It was pretty unsettling to watch, but Frisk didn’t spook easy, so they waited.

            Napstablook didn’t disappoint; after the long silence, the ghost began to practically vibrate in place until they finally spoke. “H-he wrote me…” They paused, eyes narrowing down at the paper. “This is-!” they began, sounding like they were speaking through gritted teeth. “That—that idiot—!” Around the ghost’s body, magic bullets began to dot the air; Frisk nearly took a step back, but they saw that the bullets weren’t headed in their direction, just suspended motionlessly in the air. Suddenly, Napstablook hiccupped. “He _thinks_ that he—that he can just _waltz_ back—back into _my_ life-!”

            Frisk flinched at the sound of tearing paper; at the top of the letter, the page started to rip right down the middle. “Wait!” they shouted, starting to take a step forward, but stopping once they looked again at the dense cloud of bullets in the air. “Napstablook, wait, don’t tear it up just yet! You don’t-”

            _“Why not?”_ the ghost snapped, rounding on the human. “After everything that—that idiot has put me through, why shouldn’t I, huh? It’s my stupid letter so—so-!”

            They held up their hands, soothingly. “Because don’t you want to know straight from himself how he’s doing?” When the ghost sneered, Frisk tried not to sigh. “Did you even read the letter yet?”

            Napstablook paused at that before shuddering in anger again. “I don’t _want_ to read it! He… he should… he should just come talk to me face to face! I-!” the ghost paused and Frisk watched as they seemed to deflate, the bullets finally starting to wink out of existence. “I… I’m his family… for crying out loud…”

            Frisk took a step closer, careful not to startle the ghost as they walked over. “Do you honestly think either of you are ready to jump straight back into face to face reunions just yet?” they asked.

            “I’m his cousin,” Napstablook said again, but it sounded less angry and more just wounded.

            “That doesn’t make it hurt less,” they murmured gently. “Look. I understand if you don’t want to read the letter. But, listen. This is the first letter he’s written to you. This is him, reaching out to you. If you don’t want to read it now, that’s okay. It’s okay if you’re mad or upset, but don’t do something you’ll regret.” When the ghost drooped some more, they held out their hand to the ghost. “If you don’t want to read it right now, I can hold onto it some more for you. You don’t have to rush it.”

            Napstablook sniffled. “Did… did you read it?”

            Frisk considered their answer before deciding to go with the truth. “He wanted me to. He wanted to know what I thought about it.”

            “And what _do_ you think about it?” they asked, tone waspish as they looked up at Frisk.

            Biting back a sigh, Frisk smiled. “Well, I think it’s a start. Not great at explaining things, but a start.”

            Napstablook snorted and glanced back down at the letter. “That sounds like him. He thought beginnings were always the most boring parts of the story anyway. He always wanted to rush through them so he could get to the fun parts.”

            Frisk let themselves have the small grin that tugged on their lips. “That does sound like him, yes.” When the ghost didn’t go on, they held their hand out. “I really do understand if you don’t want to read it just yet. I can it safe for you until then.”

            After a long pause where the ghost looked at the hand, the letter finally flicked back towards Napstablook, like they were hugging it to their body. “No. It’s… my letter. I’ll read it.” They glanced up at the human. “I’m not promising anything. Don’t hold your breath.”

            “Of course not,” they murmured, taking a step back, trying not to smile too much about it. “You think it over. I’ll see you next month, probably, so there’s plenty of time to think about it.”

            They nodded slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for no chapter last week, but a lot stuff happened all at once AND it was Thanksgiving, so I just didn't end up having time. At the same time, I realized that this chapter was going to run long, so I decided to cut it in two. This chapter, by the way, was a request from both kawaiiloverq and alextisgr8 who want to see Mettaton and Napstablook reconcile.
> 
> That said, I have an idea for Christmas (well, that's is if net neutrality is still a thing come next month--if I can't get use ff.net or AO3, then I'll be on hiatus for however long it will be until net neutrality becomes a thing again. Or if my provider lets me access either sites, which who knows at this point) that I wanted to run by you guys. I'm planning on posting two things that week. One will be our regularly scheduled chapter, the other will be separate story, still set in this universe. 
> 
> Why another story and not just add it here as a chapter? Because I want to keep the rating to T and that chapter is going to be smut.
> 
> Now, on ff.net, I cannot post smut, so that part of the story is strictly for AO3. What I want to know from you guys here on AO3, do you guys want me to mark the point in the fic where it stops being just being Teen or Mature and moves straight to Explicit, or do you guys not care at all and want to dive straight in? Marking the point isn't a problem at all, but if it'd be a disconnect for too many people, then I won't add it.
> 
> Also, another aside: I didn't name Mettaton's ghost name because I know people have differing headcanons and this way you could use whatever you want. That said, I know that as a ghost Mettaton is spoken of as "them" like other ghosts, but for the sake of convenience (srsly, 'they' gets used an awful lot in this chapter) I had him be referred to as "he" and then turned it into a minor plot point when that's how Napstablook recognizes that Frisk's met him. That said, I might have accidentally referred to Napstablook with male pronouns--if you see any errors, let me know, please.


	31. ...and make it better

It wasn’t often that Mettaton got unexpected guests on set—aside from a few irate tv executes and the confused stagehand, most people knew not to blunder their way onto Mettaton’s stage. It wasn’t that he hated the unexpected, just that it was sometimes a little dangerous on his set what with the bombs and chainsaws, so most of the studio knew not to barge in. Since filming had only begun very recently, there hadn’t been too many chances for accidents, but it was probably inevitable. He was kind of looking forward to it—surprises always meant exciting things for the audience.

            Today, however, when the door opened up and Frisk stepped inside, he hardly noticed when the bombs he was juggling went flying through the air—luckily, they were just props and not the live kind, although a few crewmembers had to dodge the projectiles. “Frisk!” he shouted as he hurried over and scooped them up into a hug.

            They laughed as he picked them up and then squeezed them. “Finally! I’ve been trying to find you—I had to check three different sets before this.” They pressed a kiss to his cheek as he sat them down. “I thought people were sending me on a wild goose chase.”

            “Ah, well, I’m glad you kept searching then.” He pinched their cheeks and got a grin out of them for it. “Darling, this is a wonderful surprise. You’ve never visited me on my new set before!”

            “Well, you only told me about your new show two months ago and then you didn’t tell me _where_ it was until a couple weeks ago,” they quipped rapping a knuckle off his chest plate. “Also, I’m a busy person. You’re going to have to cut me some slack here.”

            “Alright, but only the once.”

            They grinned. “Thank you.”

            “Did you come here all by yourself, or are you hiding one of our dear friends around here?”

            “Just Sans today, but you know him.”

            He scoffed. “Sulking around in the shadows somewhere no doubt. You should have brought Papyrus. Then we all could have had some fun.”

            “He’d love it,” they agreed, “but then it’d be Sans and the kids stuck in the house together for who knows how long and I’d rather leave Papyrus alone with a new cookbook and a overpowered stove than leave those guys alone together.”

            “Drat. But you’re staying for ‘who knows how long’?” he pulled them over to cozy up against his side as he winked down at them. “I’m sure we can find some way to entertain ourselves in the meantime.”

            “Just so you know,” they replied in a playfully snooty manner, “I’ll never break that poor boy’s heart.”

            Mettaton tugged on some of their bangs. “Don’t tease _my_ poor, tender heart.”

            Before they could reply, one of the interns, who had been elected by the rest of the crew, interrupted them by timidly clearing her throat. When both Frisk and Mettaton glanced at her, she gave them an uneasy smile. Huh; looked like he needed to work harder on these guys. Honestly, they were all so timid and yet he’d never used anything worse than some verbal threats to get them to move. His old crew had much more spine than any of these milksops. “Sorry to bother you, Mettaton, but we still have some more scenes to go over.”

            “Shall I come back later?” Frisk asked, gazing up at him.

            Instead, he reached down and gave their shoulder a squeeze. “Nonsense! I won’t hear of throwing you out just to wait. Come on, you can come sit on my couch and watch. Or even stand in for my guests! Yes, that’ll work perfectly.” With the wave of his hand, the intern went scrambling away and he marched them straight to the couch. “Now, you remember that old bit I used to do for the kids, the juggling chainsaws bit?”

            “A classic if there was one.”

            He tweaked their nose. “Darling, you really must visit the set more. Now! Picture this…”

            For the next hour, he rehearsed some of the things he had planned for his show, explaining as he went, and actually pausing to listen to what they had to say. Frisk had yet to steer him wrong, so where he might ignore some company note coming on down from some head honcho, usually meebling about how dangerous something was, he trusted their thoughts on things.

            He had just finished rehearsing one part when he dropped elegantly into his host’s chair and leaned across his desk towards them. “Mind helping me answer some questions so we can see if get some fun banter going?”

            “Always happy to be of service,” they answered with a grin.

            “You’re a doll. Now then—oh for crying out loud. Where are my questions cards?” he shouted and at least three interns slammed into each other as they scrambled to look around. Rolling his eyes, he turned back to Frisk. “Take to this to your grave, but I actually miss old Burgerpants. He might have been incompetent, but at least he was just funny in his lack of talent.”

            “His name isn’t actually Burgerpants,” Frisk said, giving him a knowing look.

            “It suited him. Oh, damn the cards, I’ll play by ear,” he shouted at the direction of the crew. Ugh. He was going to have to fire all the new interns at this rate. He was going to get another complaint soon that he was being too picky about them, but honestly how was he supposed to work like this? He turned to Frisk with his most charming expression—he should know, he practiced it for an hour straight in a mirror each day, just to make sure he could do it perfectly whenever he needed to. “Alright, darling, let’s start off simple. What were you doing, besides bringing new light and laughter into my day, when you showed up tonight?”

            He meant the question to be a cue for them to laugh and pull out some strange new story that would sure to be a delight. Instead, they paused and then reached into their coat. “Actually,” they began and withdrew an envelope. “I have something for you.”

            He could actually feel his CPU slowing down as his soul stuttered at the sight of the slim envelope. Rather than let his system crash, he jerked his body and sat up. “Is that what I think it is?”

            “It is,” they answered, their gaze neutral. “From exactly who you think it’s from.”

            For a moment, it took everything he had not to lunge across the desk and snatch the letter away from them. He couldn’t do that though—he’d scratch the beautiful, velvet soft polish on his desk for one. Instead, he stood and snatched them up with his arms.  Quickly, he pulled them towards him and sat them on his hip as if they were a child. He glanced at his crew for a moment. “Rehearsal’s cancelled. Go home. Get back here early tomorrow, because we’ll pick up where we left off then.” He pointed one hand at the interns were all still sulking next to each other. “Except you three. Don’t bother coming back at all.”

            Rather than stick around to listen to them whine and plead, he carried Frisk backstage, heading straight to his dressing room. Once inside, he sat them down and tried not to look as jittery as he felt. “Have you read it yet?”

            “No. They had sealed it and I wasn’t about to go nosing into stuff that has nothing to do with me,” they answered, pulling the letter back out. They offered it to him but then paused. “Do you _want_ me to read it first?”

            He looked at the letter again—the envelope was thin, but what it contained inside pulled on his soul like a lead weight. His cousin’s thoughts and feelings were in there, dangerous as a viper. Napstablook could have written any number of things in there, could shred his heart to pieces if he wanted. And yet, what if he was wrong? What if Napstablook genuinely wanted to know how he was doing? It could be an olive branch waiting inside for him.

            The possibilities stretched out. At any other time, he’d be pleased at a fresh new chance to experience something. He loved trying different things, loved surprises. Right now, he felt his joints wanting to rattle as his body wound tight as a drum.

            “You read it. I need to sit down. And a drink. You want a drink?”

            They frowned thoughtfully down at the envelope before shrugging and tearing a corner to open the seal. “That depends on what you got.”

            “You like bourbon, right? I got some here.”

            “Perfect. That’ll do nicely.” They got the letter out and unfolded it.

             He was glad he was a monster suddenly because if he was really human at this moment, he probably would have vomited. With a shudder, he turned back to his liquor cabinet—he didn’t keep much in there, but being that he sometimes entertained guests, it was important to keep refreshments on hand. “Cocktails! How about a cocktail? I have stuff here for some simple ones.”

            Frisk fiddled with the vanity lights until they lit up; poor Frisk, perhaps he should have warned them that Napstablook’s handwriting was tiny and cramped, using every square inch of the paper possible. He had no idea why cousin insisted on writing that way, but it was a nightmare to read. “Christ,” he heard them mumble as they squinted at the paper before clearing their throat. “I’ll take an old fashioned, if you would please.”

            Quickly, he focused on mixing the drink, glad to have something to do with his hands as they fell quiet behind him. All too soon, the drink was done, but Frisk was still trying to decipher the letter, their lips moving as they tried to puzzle out the letters. They took the drink from him with a quiet thank you. That done, he turned immediately back to mix his own drink. But what? He preferred gin, but did he want a martini or a Negroni? Eh, maybe not a martini.

            Frisk made a small noise behind him.

            He froze, waiting.

            Silence.

            God, he needed a drink—maybe he couldn’t taste anything because he was a robot, but the liquor would do funny things with his processing speeds and that was a world more fun sounding than this. The Negroni would do. He started mixing, only to realize he used tequila instead of vermouth. Annoyed, he tossed out the whole thing and tried again, only to stop again when he realized he entirely added too much vermouth and there was no more room in the glass to balance it out. In a fit, he tossed the contents out, but as he reached for the bottles again, Frisk’s voice cut through his mood.

            “If you toss out one more glass of this fine ass liquor, I’m going to chuck my shoe at your head,” they announced dryly, loudly sipping their own cocktail.

            He chuckled and sheepishly reached for the bourbon again. Did he want a Manhattan? No, better to settle for something simpler. With a few quick grabs with his four hands, he poured his ingredients in at even amounts. Taking his Presbyterian, he sat down at his couch and forced himself to sip the drink instead of gulping it.

            After a bit, Frisk finally set the letter down. “God, I think reading that nearly gave me a migraine.”

            “They dislike wasting space,” he murmured, taking another sip before he realized he could hear the ice cubes rattling in the glass as his hand shook. He sat it down. “Their writing tends to be very dense.”

            “Dense. That’s a good word for it.” They sighed and rubbed their left temple. “Alright. The letter. It’s, um, pretty… well, they’re upset. And mad. But not as bitter as I thought?”

            He sat up. “That’s good, right?”

            They chuckled, dropping their hand from their face. “Honestly, it’s _better_ than I thought, so I’d say yes. Here, I think you’re safe to read it.”

            Quickly, he snatched it from them and began to scan the contents himself, the words looking like overlapping scribbles for a moment before his eyes adjusted and his mind remembered how to parse it.

            There was no preamble, no salutations. Napstablook jumped straight into it.

 _You’re an idiot._ It began; for the sake of his sanity, his brain began to add paragraph breaks, to make it easier to read.

            _Do you realize how long you’ve been gone? It’s been nearly two years, you asshole. Twenty some months now! I thought you were dead or_

_Do you know how long I looked for you? I spent weeks looking for a clue for you. I looked over every inch of Waterfall, I checked Hotland, New Home, Snowdin—I went into the Ruins looking for you! No one had seen you, no one could prove if they’d killed you or not. And a lot of people claimed they did; do you realize how many people you’ve pissed off over the years? And they tried to attack me after I asked about you._

_I had to track down our cousins and even they didn’t know what had happened to you. I had to go home and sit around with nothing. That’s all you left me with—nothing! Nothing but your stupid house. And Sebastian. Do you know how picky of an eater he is? It took ages before I could coax him into eating something and then all he wanted to do was lie around. He was waiting for you, I think. It was so annoying and so stupid. He’s your dumb snail, why aren’t you here taking care of him?_

            “Aw,” he murmured, pausing for a moment to take a breath. “He’s been looking after Sebastian for me.”

            “Yeah, I read that. Who’s Sebastian by the way?” Frisk asked, watching him closely. Perhaps he had worried them.

            He smiled, waving them off. “Sebastian is my favorite snail, a beautiful big specimen of _Lissachatina fulica._ Absolutely gorgeous. He was as large as my hands are now the last time I saw him.” He paused, blinking rapidly and biting his lip. Funny. He hadn’t thought much about Sebastian since he’d left, but before then he’d been very attached. He’d been attached to all of the snails, but he had to admit he had his favorites—George with his delicate shell, Mary Elizabeth with her adventurous attitude, and Jean Paul who only took his medicine if someone fed it to him by hand.

            And yet, he had left them all in an instant the day he’d left the snail farm. Did that make him heartless? Perhaps Frisk could answer him, but the thought of doing so made him want to run screaming into the night.

            “Mettaton?” Frisk’s voice cut in, making him freeze. “You okay?”

            “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he muttered, glancing back at the letter. “Just a little lost in my thoughts here.” He kept reading, feeling cold at certain times and then oddly—hopeful? Relieved? He wasn’t sure what to call what he felt at certain lines. “It’s funny. I was expecting more death threats and condemnations in here.”

            “I think he mostly sounds worried. Worried and annoyed,” they added.

            He winced at another line. “My house burnt down?”

            “Yeah. He, uh… well, he told me he did it. I’m sorry.”

            Mettaton paused, remembering all the things he’d left behind, abandoned. The snails, his house, his diaries, his collection of human movies and music. Had Napstablook saved the cds and records before burning the house? Had they remembered those good nights when they’d put on the music they found in the garbage, lie on the floor, and just space out, feeling in tune the trash and treasure around them. Or had they destroyed all that as well?

            Well then.

            He shrugged, forcing himself to look past that particular sentence. “It doesn’t really matter. I did leave it behind after all.”

            Frisk caught his one free hand, his other three be busy with the letter and his drink. Tenderly, they ran their thumb across his knuckles and looked kindly sympathetic.

            He managed a smile for them, not quite his usual one that he could flash at anyone, but no less of a mask. “It’s fine. I’d rather they take their frustration out on the house than something more important.” He shrugged and looked back to the letter, but made sure he grasped Frisk’s hand in turn.

            Once he was finally finished, he folded the letter, considered what he was supposed to do with it, and then drained his cocktail to buy himself a moment to think. Napstablook really did sound angry, but perhaps not as catastrophically angry as he had feared. They’d even ended the letter by telling him that on no uncertain terms they were not taking the snails up to the surface—but, however, if he wanted his favorite snail back, he was welcome to come and get him. Welcome to come home, at least for a little while.

            He wasn’t sure if Napstablook had meant it to sound like that, but despite the nearly two years he’d been gone, Napstablook was still willing to let him visit and collect his things, things that they’d been caring for in his absence.

            “Well,” he began, finally shoving the letter back in its envelope. “It could have been worse.”

            “It could have,” Frisk agreed. “It could have been better, but I’m not sure how realistic that could be.”

            “And why is that?”

            They grimaced. “Well, sweetheart, they still have no idea you’re you, for one.” _They have no idea that they once told you to kill yourself on live television, almost sending you into a fit of suicidal depression,_ Frisk meant.

            _And I’m not going to be the one telling them that any time soon_ , he didn’t need to reply. Some things did go without saying. “It _was_ only a start though.”

            “Are you planning to send another letter?” they asked. “Or just send them messages on the undernet servers?”

            He opened his mouth, reconsidered, and then opened his mouth again. “If I wrote them a letter, would you deliver it to them for me?”

            They must have longed to sigh at him, but somehow they found the grace to not. “Well, I won’t be able to deliver it quickly. I only see them once or twice a month.”

            “That’s fine,” he answered, almost too fast. Actually, that sounded perfect—if he used the internet or undernet to talk to Napstablook, he had the suspicion that he’d start babbling nonsense until the truth just came tumbling out in all its nightmarish ugliness. “Extra time will help me figure what exactly I want to say to them.”

            “Yes, but you probably won’t hear back from them until after another month.”

            Oh. That would be agony. But then, he lived with it for one month already. He could survive it again. “It’s fine. Would you do it?”

            Their face softened. “If it would make you happy.” They squeezed his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Let me know when you want to send it.”

 

 

 

 

            It took him two weeks to write his next letter, and while he liked to think it was an improvement over his first, he knew he probably deserved the scathing letter that followed.

_Blooky!_

_I’m surprised you wrote back so fast after my letter! You know, I really had forgotten how long it’d been. So much has happened since we last talk, you wouldn’t believe it._

_I’m so happy to hear that Sebastian is doing well and you’re taking such good care of him. He always was my fussy little baby. Is he still trying to romance Selina or has he moved on to a new love? Speaking of the old dears, how are they all doing? Is Jean Paul still sickly, or has he finally gotten better? Did Mary Elizabeth ever have her great escape, or have you managed to keep her at the farm? They were all such a funny bunch. Send them my love._

_You really should bring them to the surface sometime—they would all be so stunned by the sunshine. The moon too! Oh, Blooky, I thought I would adore the sun, but I was not prepared for the moon. It’s always changing, and makes for such a romantic sight. Do you know that when it gets thinner, it’s not really shrinking, it’s just the Earth’s shadow covering it? And the Earth reflects sunlight back onto it so that when it’s thin, you can still see the rest of the silhouette of the moon. I don’t remember any of our old movies telling us that. It’s really something to see._

_Humans don’t know how good they had it. But really, I’m so glad to finally be here, with them. They’re such a surprising bunch! Most of them have been really friendly to me—being a monster means we’re all kind of this brand new treat, so there’s lots of work up here if you’re into the entertainment business. I bet you could get quite the fan following among humans—they’d be tickled to listen to music made by a real ghost. Speaking of ghosts, humans have the funniest ideas about ghosts nowadays! They have all these strange equipment in hopes of communicating with ghosts, but it’s mostly nonsense. Like this “ghostbox” thing that’s supposed to flip through radio channels really fast. It’s supposed to do something like give us energy to manipulate, but honestly, it just sounds annoying after awhile._

_I suppose I can’t force you to get up here and really enjoy it. That’s a shame, Blooky, because there’s so much I think you’d like to see…_

_Sorry, wish I could write more, but my work is never done. Talk to you some other time._

            The letter was followed the next month with a message so seething, smoke seemed to rise off the page.

            _YOU ASSHOLE. I TOLD YOU I LOOKED ALL OVER THE GODDAMN UNDERGROUND FOR YOU AND ALL YOU SAY IS ‘oh, send the snails my love’? Did not make it clear that PEOPLE WERE TRYING TO KILL ME AS I RAN AROUND LOOKING FOR YOU? Fuck you!_

_I DON’T CARE ABOUT THE SUN OR THE MOON OR ANY OF THAT STUPID SHIT UP THERE, FOR THE LAST TIME. THAT WAS ALL YOU, YOU CONCIETED COW. even if i wrote that one song that one time, that was just some dumb lyrics. I don’t care about the surface. Stop going on about it! And knock it off with the human worship while you’re at it. Bad enough that you went on all the time about it when you lived here, I’m not putting up with it again now. Who cares if humans are even dumber than expected and use stupid tools to try and talk to us instead of just picking up a damn phone? GOD, IS THAT WHY YOU LIKE HUMANS? Since they don’t know how to use a phone either, that must mean you feel right at home with them. And why would I want to let them listen to my music? Maybe my songs sucked, but I don’t think idiots like them could even tell it was music._

_I outta chuck your stupid snail in the Dump. Let’s see how fussy he’ll be then. And if you must know Mary Elizabeth finally stopped escaping and settled down. Your Sebastian had his first clutch of babies last winter and another about a month ago. Selina mated with him the second time around, so maybe she got jealous finally. Whatever. Something ate some of the eggs from the last clutch, but there were a few survivors. He’s slowed down since that first clutch though, so he’s not winning races much anymore. I’ve yet to see how his children do on the racetrack._

_Jean Paul died a year ago, but we all knew that his life would be short in the long run. He hadn’t been eating for a while, so I knew it was coming. I buried by the little pond outside the house. He really liked playing by the sand there._

_Ugh. This letter is a waste of my damn time. Enjoy your moonshine or whatever!_

            “I brought you something special,” Mettaton chirped, holding up a bag.

            Papyrus’s eye sockets widened, his focus narrowing to the bag before glancing back at Mettaton, tapping his hands compulsively and rapidly against his legs to keep from clapping them like a baby. “Is it a bomb?”

            _Well, now I know what to get him for his birthday,_ Mettaton thought amusedly. “Nope. This is a very special MTT brand item.” He beamed. It was always a joy to say that—before the Barrier came down, sales of his brand items had done “alright” at best. Afterwards, his brand had grown as his popularity went up with humans and monsters alike—owning a monster made item was something of a status item among humans, so even if they weren’t sure to do with microwaves that occasionally caught on fire if you pressed the popcorn button twice, it was still something to be proud of.

            “Is it a knife?” Papyrus nearly yelped. At this rate, he might just climb over the kitchen table and poke his head inside the bag—just _what_ was in there? What an honor to get a preview look at the new MTT item at that!

            Mettaton laughed. “Well, that’s closer. It _does_ have to do with food. And you could cut it up with a knife.” When he saw Papyrus’s intrigued reaction, he laughed and just reached into the bag to hand the item over. “Here. I just got it back from the beta testers. You get to try the first commercial version.”

            Papyrus gasped in delight, taking the package. “It’s a steak in the shape of your face!” He held the package up, turning it every which way to see what was the best angle—which was every angle, in his opinion. “It looks just like you.”

            “I should hope so,” Mettaton chuckled. Well, it looked like his boxy form—he rarely used it much except for the shows he was specifically aiming for monsters as his main audience. The box form tested better with them; in reality, one of the reasons he was happy to market to humans was because it gave him the perfect excuse to never use that form. “This is my special food line item that I’m going to try to market for humans. I won’t be releasing it for another month still. We're trying to think up the best marketing plan for it still.”

            The skeleton nodded less because he understood why there had to be a marketing campaign in the first place—honestly, who _wouldn’t_ want a steak that looked like Mettaton?—and more because he approved of plans and strategies in general.

            “But, this one’s special because I had a very special plan in mind when I came up with the idea of this.”

            Papyrus, always playing his role of the audience member perfectly, looked at him curiously. “And what’s that?”

            “This is a meal tailor made for monsters who want to cook food for humans,” he exclaimed with a wink. “Say a monster wanted to start up a restaurant or cater to humans, this could be the starter meal that opens up a new world of cooking for them.”

            “That,” Papyrus said, gaping at him, “is brilliant.” He looked down at the steak with an entirely new sense of appreciation. “You’re a genius.”

            He tried to only beam at the response; honestly, even if Papyrus was his only fan, he’d count himself the luckiest entertainer alive. “I know.”

            “How does it teach people how to cook for humans though?” he asked after admiring it some more. There were no instructions on the packaging yet—perhaps that would be explained once the marketing decided on it.

            “Glad you asked! My dear, it’s all very simple. The steak cooks much like any other steak, which is to say, pretty much on its own. All the necessary spices are already inside. All you have to do is grill or pan sear it and then keep an eye on it. You cook it with the back down first, and then flip it. That,” he added with a sly smile, “is where the surprise comes in.”

            Papyrus’s head shot up. “There’s a surprise?”

            “There is indeed a surprise, darling.”He stood. “Come on, let’s get cooking and I show you how it happens.”

            The skeleton nearly fell over himself trying to scramble up and then follow him over to the stove. Once he grabbed a pan and got the stove lit, he slapped the steak into the pan and put it on the fire. “So, how do I know when to flip it?”

            Amused, Mettaton leaned over. “There’s a spell on it. When _this_ part of the meat,” he pointed to the part that had looked like the giant screen of his box form, “turns into a red x, that means it’s ready to flip.”

            “This is genius. You’re a genius. I always knew I had good taste when it came to the people I admire, but I can see that I’ve outdone myself this time.” Once the robot finished laughing, he began to poke and prod at the steak. How long would this take? Should he have put butter or oil into the pan first, or would it be fine without it? “Where _did_ you come up with such a brilliant idea?”

            Mettaton almost missed the question over his pleasure of getting his ego stroked and chuckled as if the pause had been completely natural. “Oh, I’m always listening and paying attention to the voices and concerns of all my dear fans.” Namely Frisk, who he still felt a little bad for, seeing as he’d unknowingly encouraged some downright awful cooking habits in Papyrus. The least he could do was try and get Papyrus to cook _one_ thing properly and maybe it might encourage him to try making more appetizing meals at the same time.

            Once it was time to flip, Papyrus was delighted to see the surprise—on the other side of steak was a new image. “It’s your face! Again!” he gasped.

            “Exactly! I thought ‘why limit my fans to only getting to taste one version of my face, when I could give them _two_ versions?’ And it gives me an item I can use my EX’s face for. I’m still waiting to hear back about my plushies for it yet, so at least my fans can enjoy it in edible form. And the best part is, the face is how you tell when the steak’s all done! The hair turns black when it is. After that all you have to do is serve it!”

            “This is amazing and I love it,” Papyrus surmised and began to stare at the very slowly darkening image on the meat eagerly.

            Smiling to himself, Mettaton watched Papyrus for a moment. Then his smile faded as he looked away. Mulling something over, he paused, shrugged, and then glanced at Papyrus sidelong. This wasn’t something he’d usually ask most people, but Frisk and the others were still out for now, and perhaps Frisk wasn’t the person they really wanted to ask about this—maybe an entirely new perspective would be helpful. “Papyrus, dear? Would you mind if I asked you something?”

            “Whatever you’d like.”

            He smiled for a moment, considered a bit of mischief, but then set it aside for the moment. “Have you ever had to apologize to Sans about something you’ve done before?”

            The question earned him a long pause as Papyrus blinked and finally looked away from the steak. “Come again?”

            “Did you ever have to apologize to him before? Like, if you had a fight or something. Have you two ever have to make up?”

            Papyrus considered the question as he turned back to the steak. Mettaton watched him, wishing he that he could take a peek at the skeleton’s thoughts just by looking into his skull through his eye socket. Finally, he sighed. “Actually… you could say that we did have a fight… and that we still haven’t made up over it.”

            “Oh?” Mettaton murmured, blinking at him. “It can’t be that bad, can it? You two still live together and I’ve never seen you two hit each other.” Hell, before his cousin had been the Mad Dummy of the Dump, that ghost had loved to chuck bullets at the rest of their cousins whenever they had one of their little meltdowns. In retrospect, maybe diva moments ran in their family; it would explain some things.

            “My brother’s health was never something to play around with, so we never rough housed,” Papyrus said, not actually answering the question. “Even if I wanted to hit him, I couldn’t actually do that. Even if he deserved it.”

            “And he probably has deserved it?” Mettaton guessed.

            “You know Sans.” He paused, examining the face on the back of the steak. Not quite ready yet, but very soon. “When we were both young, we had a… a falling out. We weren’t close after that, but we tolerated each other while we lived together. Then I became a sentry and moved away from New Home, which was the last I saw of Sans for awhile. You know, I kinda thought that distance might help change some things.”

            “Distance makes the heart grow fonder?”

            “Yeah, that. It doesn’t really though. Maybe makes it easier to forget what annoyed you when you were together, but the minute you’re in the room with that person again, you remember fast.”

            Mettaton tried not to snort. It was the honest truth and damningly so. Blooky’s letters proved that and he hadn’t even been in the same room with them to feel it.

            “After, uh… well, after awhile, Sans came to live with me, but even then, we didn’t go back to how we once were. If anything, I yelled at Sans a lot more because if I didn’t then he would never do anything.”

            “Good old lazy bones?”

            Papyrus fell silent. “I think the steak is done. Does it look done to you?”

            Mettaton looked at it. “Mm, yes, I think so! Just take it off the heat and put it on a plate. Then you get to be my lucky fan who gets to try it first.”

            Instantly, Papyrus seemed to be moving a mile a minute; shutting off the stove, grabbing a plate and silverware, and get the food all set before he finally made a beeline for the table.

            Mettaton laughed and joined him at the table as he began to cut the steak. Once the skeleton popped a piece of the steak into his mouth, he laughed at the expression on Papyrus’s face. “The texture’s not right, huh?”

            “The steak is great!” Papyrus insisted instantly before pausing after some more chewing. “But I do prefer it crunchier than this.”

            “That’s the way humans prefer it, darling,” he explained before leaning in. “But between you and me, I think they’re missing something when it comes to not having a good crunch in their steaks. Which!” he began, extending one of his arms to grab his bag from his original seat. Dragging it over, he reached inside and drew out a foiled wrapped item. “Is why I also have this! This is a traditional monster food item that I’m also putting out. However,” he unwrapped it to reveal a dazzling purple hamburger under the foil, “I think you’ll appreciate the texture. Here, try it.”

            Papyrus looked torn. “Is it greasy?”

            “What? No, of course not. Grease is horrible for my gears, darling, I’d never put it into my food.”

            Happily, Papyrus grabbed it and took a giant bite out of it. He chewed it for a moment and beamed. “This is great! What are the little bits on the inside?”

            “Sequins. Adds a little extra sparkle and crunch, don’t you think?”

            “It’s the best burger I’ve ever head. Especially compared to that greasy mess Sans keeps getting from Grillby’s.” He paused, looking down at his glamburger. “I never could understand why Sans likes grease so much. But then, there’s a lot of things I just don’t understand when it comes to my brother.”

            Mettaton smiled wryly. “Relatives can be such a difficult bunch.”

            Papyrus stared at him. “Robots have relatives?”

            “Mm, something like that.” He glanced back to Papyrus. “If you actually thought it would make things better to apologize, would you?”

            Papyrus considered before speaking. “Gladly. I just… don’t know if it will.”

            Mettaton smiled, soft and bittersweet as his face would allow. “Families are so complicated.”

            With a snort, Papyrus took another bite out of his sandwich. “That’s for certain.”

 

 

 

 

            _Blooky—_

_Oh, Blooky, you’re always such a grump. Having problems with writer’s block again? I told you, get out of your house for a while and drift around. It’ll clear out your head! Even if you won’t come to the Surface, at least get out of your house and go somewhere else for a change. Go to the old Wishing Room and made a wish or something. How quiet **is** the Underground with everyone gone? Do you ever get any visitors to the farm?_

_And, hey, I liked that song about the stars and the moon! I used to sing to Sebastian and he always liked it. You should play it for his children—they might like it too!_

_Speaking of the snails, I’m sorry to hear about Jean Paul. He was always such a dear. Is there any echo flowers near there that you could plant there? He always loved listening to them—remember when we took them on that little field trip to go see more of Waterfall? He was so fascinated by them._

_How has life been going on down there lately? Up here, it’s winter—remember how we all thought that winter would be like Snowdin? It’s really not like that at all in some places—here in LA it’s really warm and balmy, although some of my human colleagues tell me that it’s a little chilly for them. Or at least the native Californians do—if one of their northern born friends are about, then they get really huffy about how this is nothing like winter. And they’re right! I’ve been into whole other countries now and let me tell you, Snowdin’s snowdrifts look tame in comparison! Snow’s funny—sometimes it looks really gross, like when cars drive on it, but untouched snow can look really pretty in sunlight. It glitters like the crystals in Waterfall’s caves and it can nearly blind you! There’s a bunch of winter festivals that humans get into up here and they’re all really fun. Actually, monsters up here have started to think up a few of our own, so we can celebrate too._

_Oh, Blooky, you know, I watched this movie yesterday and it was fantastic! You would have loved the soundtrack, it was so good…_

_You idiot. Why do you always insist on yammering on about stuff I don’t care about? I don’t care about whatever movies you’re watching or if the soundtracks are any good. That was always **your** thing, moron. Then again, you’ve always been your own favorite subject, so it’s not like I should even be surprised at this point._

_I don’t care about humans or their holidays or their countries or their stupid weather. It’s not like I’m ever going to have to put up with it down here. Speaking of, it is blissfully quiet down here. Wonderfully quiet, immensely quiet, so quiet you wouldn’t know what to do without yourself. And I mean you, specifically. You always did start blathering the moment a silence set in, like you were goddamn allergic to it._

_SO WHAT IF I DID OR DID NOT HAVE WRITER’S BLOCK, IT’S NOT LIKE YOU EVER GAVE A SHIT. God, you are so annoying! I don’t know why I’m bothering to write this stupid letter at all! You’re not even here and you’re still pissing me off!_

_ps—i did plant echo flowers there, for jean paul. they look nice._

_PPS—I heard that idiot Mettaton got attacked by an anti-monster idiot a week ago. Frisk said that he really can’t suppress new talent or force people out, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it benefits you anyways. Congrats, I guess._

“Don’t move,” Alphys told him bluntly, soldering iron in hand, “or you’re going to make me r-ruin your chips in here.”

            “Excuse me for being uncomfortable with you putting your hands in my body and messing around with my guts,” Mettaton snapped back and tried to force himself to sit still.

            “It’s not _my_ fault you let your guard down and got s-stabbed in your chest. If you didn’t let yourself get distracted showing off to your fans this would have never ha-happened in the first place.”

            The damning thing was that she was right. He had been distracted; after his show, one of people working for him, an intern perhaps, escorted a small group of fans backstage to meet him. He’d been eager to do it and welcomed them all enthusiastically, grinning at the warm greetings they gave him in turn. And then someone had called for him and he turned to look; he recognized Sasha from Marketing and lifted his hand to wave at her, just about to call back that he’d be with her in a moment.

            And then the one startled gasp. The gasp had saved his life; when he heard the gasp of one of his fans, he turned back in time to see the knife flashing through the air as it swung up into his chest. His defenses hadn’t been completely down, so it hadn’t been a fatal blow, but the blade did puncture his chest and sink into the machine insides.

            That had, needless to say, not been fun.

            Now the company execs were insisting on beefing up his security and trying to limit the amount of fans he met and then there was all the papers blowing the story up. Frisk had even admitted that they were caught up in it too, trying to smooth things over with the authorities and some furious monsters who were indignant that one of their own had been attacked. It was all a goddamn mess and if he had just paid a little more attention, he wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.

            Still, there was no need to bitch and moan about it. He hadn’t even been so hurt that he couldn’t go straight back to work after a little healing. Of course, he’d still had a decent hole in his outer casing until Alphys could fix it. He hadn’t known she’d rip off the entire chest plate and stick her goddamn hands in his chest cavity though. He was really considering frying her hands, but then who knew how long it would take before his chest was fixed? No, he couldn’t get back at her and he couldn’t mouth off to her either. Still, he had no intention of listening to her grousing at him.

            He huffed. “You could at least have the decency to try and distract me while doing this. Aren’t doctors supposed to have a bedside manner?”

            “I’m not _that_ t-type of doctor,” she snapped back but then something sparked loudly in his chest, making her curse.

            A sliver of panic shot straight to his core. “What was that?”

            “Nothing! You’re fine, for crying out-” she paused, grumbled about something. “Look, just—what do you want to talk to about?”

            “I don’t really care, I just don’t want to have to think about the fact that you’re probably going to fry my insides. Anything! Just start talking.”

            She paused to stare at him. “You w-want _me_ to do the talking? Not _you?”_

            He glared back. “Distract me! Is it such a weird thing to ask that I not have to think about the fact I’m having what is essentially an open chest surgery right now?”

            Shaking her head, she glanced back down at her work. “Alright fine,” she said, but it took her a long moment to finally find some subject. “Uh, I found a television you’d probably like. It’s a human show. Hannibal.”

            “Already seen it. Please, Alphys, I don’t want to talk about work right now.”

            “You d-didn’t even,” she paused and shook her head. “Why didn’t I just put you in stand-by mode? This would be so much s-simpler if I did.”

            “That’s what I wanted in the first place!” he shouted back. “You said I _had_ to be awake so that I could answer your-”

            “Okay, f-f-fucking hell, I get it! L-look, what do you want me to talk about here that will let me get some peace for a few minutes?”

            His processors scrambled wildly for a second and he pounced on the first suggestion he got. “How’s Undyne doing?”

            Instantly, Alphys’ face shut down on him, her barely-there lips thinning out as she narrowed her eyes and went purposefully back to work. “She’s. Fine.”

            He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “How’s the baby thing coming?”

            “L-look, this isn’t,” she paused, took a breath, and then went on. “She’s fine. And we aren’t h-having any child until l-later.”

            “Later after what? This year?”

            She sighed. “She doesn’t want to wait that long. And Asgore already approved her f-for a-ah-ah,” she paused, shuddering in frustration. “Until after L-liberation Day.”

            “Oh? So, does that mean you’re having a Christmas baby?”

            “Not that we celebrate Christmas,” she grumbled. “But sometime around then. This will be a live b-birth, so once she’s p-pregnant then it’ll only be a few months after that. S-so. That’s that, at l-least.”

            He considered her, his mind completely off whatever she was doing in his chest. “How’s she feeling about all this?”

            “Well,” she huffed, setting aside one tool for another, “her hope’s been running pretty high lately. She’s looking forward to it.”

            “…and you? Are _you_ looking forward to being a mother?”

            Alphys paused, her hands going still as she glanced up at him. She looked at him for a silent minute before she finally sighed. Pressing her hands against her face, she began to rub her temples. “I l-like kids. I’ve always been surrounded by kids when I was growing up. I’ve babysat a lot of kids. M-mothering a kid… is a lot different than babysitting them.” She straightened her glasses on the edge of her nose, pushing them up back up. “B-but I can probably handle it.”

            For a moment, he thought she would leave it at that. It was one of the few times he thought, since she’d trapped him in this body at least, that she was being emotionally honest with him. It was bizarrely compelling, and he wondered how far he could push that honesty. “So, what is it that’s making you so nervous?”

            Despite having just fixed her glasses, she pulled them off her face and looked down at them for a moment, as if examining them although he knew for damn sure that she was nearly blind without them. Finally, she put them back on. “Undyne’s health… will probably n-never be… ideal,” she admitted, sounding like someone was wrenching her claws from the nail beds with a pair of tongs. “Even if this p-pregnancy goes perfectly, it’s a big r-r-r,” she paused and then forced out “risk.” That accomplished, she took a breath before going on. “This baby c-could—something could… if we’re not careful, then s-something could still h-happen.”

            Wow. She had stuttered for as long as he’d known her and he’d known that her stutter got worse the more she got wound up, but it’d been a while since he heard her so bad. He almost thought about changing the subject, but any good reporter knew that he couldn’t just give up the lead when the truth was just begging to get out. “What would you do if something did happen?”

            Alphys went so still, she looked like an video that someone had paused. It took her a moment before she spoke. “I don’t know.” She picked up her tools again. “F-forget it. You need to stop distracting me, or I’ll never get this done.”

            She might have well as slammed the door in his face. He lay there silently, frustrated to have been so close to _something_ ; what he wasn’t sure, but it felt important. Important for who or what, he definitely didn’t know, but now he felt oddly foiled.

            He was just starting to get curious and nervous about what she was mucking around with in his chest when she paused to sit one tool down for another. Instead of immediately picking one up, however, she stared blankly at them until he finally had to clear his throat to get her attention.

            “Alphys? What are you doing now?”

            “Nothing,” she replied by rote, but then she frowned. “L-look. If something _did_ h-happen to Undyne, I’d never f-forgive myself.” She shook her head. “No. I’d never forgive her or the child either.”

            It was his turn to stop moving. _Wow,_ he thought, staring up the ceiling, _that might be the first time I think I can actually take her at her word. This is just… something else. This is…_

Exactly like the moments they used to have together, back in the beginning, back when it had just been two monsters talking about human media and their shared interest in it. He knew now that while a lot of that was probably true, some of it was also probably faked to get him to trust her faster. But it’d felt real then too.

            But more than that, it felt like those moments he’d shared with Napstablook so long ago. Long before he left, back when Napstablook wasn’t a raging mess who doubted everyone around them. Back when he’d been more willing to put up with them. Back when they could talk about anything and neither would judge the other.

            He felt a strange pang at the thought, remembering Napstablook’s last letter, still tucked away safely back in his luggage, hidden from prying eyes. To distract himself, he glanced back to her. “Does Undyne know how you feel?”

            Alphys glared at him. “Not at this t-time.”

            He ignored the hostility in her look. “You should talk to her about it. You shouldn’t have a kid if you think you might hate them because of something they had no control over.”

            Alphys huffed. “T-that’s enough out of y-you. W-what I or Undyne do is n-none of your business.”

            “Fine, fine. Your funeral.”

            She slapped her tools down so she could hiss at him. “L-leave me alone! You want to talk about family? Fine! How’s _your_ c-cousin doing? Heard you’ve been writing to them lately.”

            They scowled at each other until he finally forced himself to speak. “How much longer of this do I have to sit through?”

            Alphys frowned and grabbed her tools once more.

            Three days later, Mettaton received a text just as he called for a five minute break. The actress he’d been talking to wandered away beaming, ecstatic to receive his praise while the cast and crew looked equally surprised. He thought their reactions were a little unjust—he wasn’t above compliments, he just thought they had to be earned. He was still grumbling about it as he examined the text.

            To his surprise, it was from Alphys.

            _I thought about what you said. Undyne and I talked about the baby. I’m only going to say this once, so appreciate this: you were right. I feel better about it now._

            Abruptly, another message arrived.

            _And I was out of line. About your cousin. But, if you’re willing to taste your own medicine, I think you probably need to tell them the truth about everything. You don’t want to regret it later._

            He paused, looking blankly up into the air. It was hard to feel any sort of satisfaction at her notes. In his dressing room, hidden in the false bottom to a drawer, Napstablook’s letter waited patiently for him to come back and read it once more.

            _PPS—I heard that idiot Mettaton got attacked by an anti-monster idiot a week ago. Frisk said that he really can’t suppress new talent or force people out, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it benefits you anyways. Congrats, I guess._ That’s what the letter ended with; his cousin was rejoicing in his misfortune because they thought it was benefiting him. He had expected something like that from one of his cousin’s letters eventually, but it was still a stab all the same. It was a pain he wasn’t looking forward to repeating twice. So, was Alphys right? Was it time to come clean?

            Mettaton blinked and realized that the crew and cast were starting to gather back together now that the break was running out. Forcing himself to smile, he turned back to the crowd and began to shout directions.

            In the back of his still undecided mind, a letter began to write itself.

 

 

 

 

            Mettaton did not send that letter the next month; he did write it. A week before he intended to hand it over to Frisk to take it with them, he burnt it. He rewrote the letter as the same simple minded chatter, void of any meaningful admissions of truth. It felt like enough until the night before Frisk’s monthly return to the Underground. Then, in a moment of sick guilt, he burnt that one as well and started scribbling out a new letter. Unfortunately, that letter quickly became just as brainless and empty as the last, so in the end he sealed the letter and forced himself not to think about it until he had to deliver it to Frisk.

            His cousin’s reply was more annoyed and bitter than usual; they must have picked up on the increased insincerity in his tone. It felt like a regression.

            If there was one thing he hated it was spinning his wheels only to go nowhere.

            When it was his turn to write next, he sat there, trying to compose something would mean _something_ and only coming up with utter stupidity.

            _‘Hey, Blooky, remember when I said I was in Hollywood, living out my dreams? Well, I forgot to mention, I’m not just a rising star in the entertainment scene, I’ve also become fully corporal! Wild, right? I know you never felt like getting a body, but you know I always wanted one. Actually, it’s one of the reasons I left as abruptly as I did—I could only get the body after being sworn to secrecy, not that I did that to spite you or anything, even if you were a big jerk. Want to know what my new body looks like? Well, it’s about 6’4”, metal, oh and one time you called into my show and told me I was a sick, ugly freak and then told me I should kill myself! On live tv, in front of the whole of the Underground! Small world, huh?’_

Yes, _that_ would go over well.

            He pressed a hand to his brow, not that he had a headache. It just felt right. “Oh, I should have just wrote the letter when I had the chance,” he groaned. It wasn’t exactly honest; with this robot body’s memory, he could easily pull up the memory of composing that letter until he could faithfully recreate it. It just still sounded awful; it was a little hard to imagine that too much truth could be such a bad thing, but thinking up this letter sure proved that point.

            He paused.

            ‘ _But, if you’re willing to taste your own medicine, I think you probably need to tell them the truth about everything. You don’t want to regret it later.’_

            What did that little liar know about truth and regret? Who was she to be such a hypocrite to him?

            Well, the answer to that was obvious—she was someone who’s lies came back to bite her in the ass.

            Groaning, he dropped his head back down to his desk. Opening his eyes, he decided to try something—to speak a little of the truth out loud, just to see if maybe once it was out in the open air, that maybe it would at least be something he could stand to live with.

            “I can’t stand the thought about writing another empty letter,” he admitted to the air. “I can’t stand wasting more time and effort and—and paper on it.”

            He paused—if his stomach were organic, it might have unclenched a little. The world hadn’t ended and the words sounded less silly.

            It was a start.

            Grabbing the paper before him, he dragged it down to sit right before him. “Alright,” he murmured, taking up his pen. “Let’s see if I can get some of this down.”

 

 

 

 

            Frisk’s phone began to ring at approximately thirty six minutes after two in the morning; they knew that because they groaned in annoyance as they checked their phone. They’d only just began to feel relaxed, their muscles loose despite the sweat on their brow.

            “Whoever it is,” Sans grumbled, face still pressed into the side of their neck, “they better be dead already, otherwise I’m going to kill them.”

            Frisk snorted, checked their phone, and laughed a little. “Well, you could do that, but you’d have to get out of bed to do it.”

            “Ugh,” he muttered. “Alright, whoever it is, they’re safe for tonight.”

            Still laughing, they answered the phone call. “Hello, Mettaton.”

            Sans groaned even louder.

            _“Hello, darling!”_ Mettaton nearly shouted into their ear—even Sans winced at the volume. Shifting their phone to the other side, they patted his head as Mettaton went on. _“I’m sorry did I wake you up?”_

            Frisk laughed, a little out of breath, and grinned as Sans snickered into their neck. “Oh, no. You know me, I keep weird hours. What can I do for you?”

            _“Would you mind meeting me? I need to talk to you.”_

            Frisk blinked. “Well, if you don’t mind talking on the phone, we could just do it now?” They paused and prodded Sans’ skull. “Hey, let me up.”

            “No,” he answered bluntly.

            “Sans, come-” their voice cut off as they felt him set his teeth on their throat.

            “No, _you_ come on.”

            Pausing to lick their lips, Frisk put the phone back up closer to their face. “Mettaton, give me a moment please.” Not bothering to wait for a reply, they moved the phone over to San’s pillow and flipped it face down so that they wouldn’t embarrass themselves with the loud moan that escaped their lips. “ _Later,_ you tease. This sounds important.”

            He huffed, his breath hot on their skin, but he did pull his head back. “Probably won’t _be_ a ‘later’ since I’ll be asleep by the time you get back.” He flopped over onto his side, almost bouncing his head off their phone where it still lay on his pillow.

            They grabbed the phone and pressed a kiss to his skull as they got up. “I’ll just wake you up when I get back in.”

            “Don’t you dare.”

            Chuckling at his sleepy bristling, they shimmied into some clothes before leaving the room and heading down to the kitchen where they’d be less likely to wake others up. “Okay! Sorry about that,” they said as they dropped down into a kitchen chair. “What did you want to talk about?”

            _“Frisk, are you in your kitchen now?”_

            Frisk blinked. “Ah, yes?”

            _“Come to the front door please.”_

 _Oh boy. This sounds like it can **only** be **good,**_ they thought sarcastically. They quickly hurried over to the front door and opened it, only remembering to switch on the porch lights at the last moment. As they thought, Mettaton stood outside the door, not in his usual humanoid form, but in his boxy one. The moment they opened the door, he reached out and shoved something at them. “Can you give that to Blooky for me?”

            They gawked at the envelope for a moment before shaking off their surprise. “Uh, yes, of course. You didn’t have to come drop this off so late, you know. If you’d called, I would have waited tomorrow-”

            “Oh, no, I couldn’t wait,” he interrupted. “I didn’t want to burn this copy too. Look, just take that letter and whatever happens, if I show up tomorrow trying to get that letter back from you, _don’t let me have it back.”_

            Frisk stared blankly for a long, awkward moment. “Uh… sure?”

            Mettaton paused, his fingers nervously tapping together has he steepled them. “And there’s, uh, one last thing I need to ask of you.”

            Well, in for the penny, in for the pound. “Yes?”

            “I know you’re a very busy person and that you’ll be pretty busy in particular tomorrow, but if you could, could you… well, could you maybe do me a favor and, uh, keep some time open in your schedule tomorrow before you leave the Underground. That letter… well, Blooky might… need someone to talk to after, you know. Reading it.”

            Wow, they hadn’t heard him sound this nervous in a long time. They had no idea what had gotten into him, but it seemed important. Glancing down at the letter, they considered it. “Is there something… delicate in here or-?”

            “I decided to tell them who I am,” Mettaton answered bluntly.

            “Oh,” they murmured. Suddenly, the letter seemed much more delicate and important than it had just a few seconds before. “I see. Of course, I’ll try and make some time for them.” They reached out and grabbed one of his sets of hands that was still tapping nervously together. “I promise, I’ll do what I can.”

            Mettaton took an unnecessary, but steadying breath, idled for a second, then hopped in place, which was as much of a nod as this body could manage. “Alright then! That’s all I wanted. I better get going and let you go back to bed. Send my love to everyone!”

            “Ah—wait, do you want to come inside or-?”

            “Oh, no, I didn’t want to wake anyone up! Now, speaking of not waking anyone up, I’m going to roll myself down the street some and then I’ll start up my engines. Thanks for everything, Frisk!”

            Frisk could only wave their goodbye as he shot off down the road and then took off into the air. Once he vanished out of sight, they looked down at the letter and sighed. “Well. This is going to be interesting.”

            They took the letter over to their coat and tucked it into one of the hidden pockets where they couldn’t forget it. Once that was done, they went up to bed again. True to his word, Sans was already asleep when they crawled into bed. Kissing his temple goodnight, they settled onto their side of the bed and tried not to think about the letter.

            It was the first thing on their mind when they woke up the next morning and it lurked in the back of their brain the entire day as they did their rounds Underground. They made sure to save their visit with Napstablook for last, trying their hardest to resist the urge to reach for the letter that teased their mind.

            “Last stop,” they announced at the Dump. “Do you mind hanging out for awhile? This might take a while.”

            Sans raised an eyebrow ridge. “Is this about that stupidity with Mettaton last night?”

            “Something to that effect.”

            He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fine. Knock yourself out. I’m going to go find some echo flowers to leave messages to fuck with someone.”

            “You always use your time so well, my love,” they laughed as he wandered off. He waved over his shoulder to them as he vanished behind a mound of trash. Once he was gone, they turned and walked towards Napstablook’s house. Not seeing them around the paddock or racing track, they knocked at their door.

            The door opened immediately, but Napstablook still peeked out for a moment before throwing the door open all the way. “Oh, it’s you,” they drawled, but they looked eagerly at Frisk’s hands and pockets.

            “Yep, it’s me. Got something for you.”

            “Figured,” they muttered, but Napstablook still gave them an odd look. Usually Frisk held off giving them the letter until after they talked for awhile, but now here Frisk was already pulling the letter out. “What’s my idiot cousin want this time?”

            “Actually, what he wants is for you to read the letter now and for me to hang around until after you’re done,” they answered bluntly before shrugging. “Here. I figured I’d just hang around the paddock and watch the snails for a bit to give you some privacy.”

            Napstablook scowled at them. “And why should I just leave you alone with my snails?”

            They gave the monster a flat look. “Do you honestly think I’d try to hurt or steal any of your snails?”

            The ghost frowned mightily at them, but snatched the letter from their hand all the same. “Just don’t touch anything.” They went to duck back inside but then paused to glance back at them. “Um. Did you want something to eat or drink or… something?”

            “I’m fine. I’ll just be out here if you need me.”

            After a moment of hesitation, they nodded and slipped back inside. Seeing them vanish, Frisk sighed and trudged over to the snail paddock to greet the snails.

            It did not take as long as Frisk thought it would before Napstablook reappeared. Frisk had only been talking at the snails for a few minutes before the door burst open and they floated out like they were staggering drunk. They watched the ghost silently as they froze before turning to look for Frisk. Once the ghost spotted them, Napstablook surged over so fast, they might have well as teleported in front of the human.

            “This letter,” they began before pausing. “Is it—are my cousin and that—is Mettaton really…?”

            “Your cousin,” Frisk supplied flatly and then nodded. “Yes, he is.”

            Napstablook was stock still for a moment. Then his form flickered and dimmed. “Oh no,” they whispered, their voice so small. “O-oh _no…”_

            They considered the ghost for a moment. “Napstablook?”

            “Oh, god,” they whispered. “I told him to—I called that stu—that show and I— _oh god no…”_

            Frisk let their face soften with pity; for Mettaton, for the memory of a sweet ghost they’d once known in their original’s world, they could do this. They held up their hands comfortingly as they took a step forward. “Come on. Why don’t we go inside?”

            Softly, the ghost began to weep as Frisk shepherded them back into the house.

 

 

 

            Mettaton hadn’t been expecting anything that night. After he left the letter with Frisk, he resigned himself to his decision and went back to work. But he really hadn’t expected a reply so fast—at best, he’d hoped that maybe next month there would be a new letter, or maybe the month after that.

            He didn’t expect the call he got as he finished an interview. He politely bade the journalist a goodbye as he left, but he nearly tripped over his feet when he realized who was calling him. Ducking off the soundstage they’d been filming on, he hurried to his waiting car, scattering people out of his way as he accepted the phone call. “Hello, Frisk dear! I wasn’t expecting to hear back from you so early! How was your trip to the Underground today? Did you see anything-?”

            _“Mettaton, I’m with Napstablook.”_ Their answer nearly struck him mute. _“They’d like to talk to you, if you would.”_

            Mettaton froze. Quickly, he raised the window separating him from the driver—not that it was really necessary as he paid the lady good money not to interrupt him during a call—and finally cleared his throat. “Yes, I have a moment. Go ahead and put them on.”

            There was a small rustling of clothes and then a familiar voice that haunted him crackled across the connection. _“Mettaton? Are you really…?”_

            Mettaton smiled tightly and clenched his fists. “Hello, Blooky.”

            On the other end, Napstablook began to cry. The sound made Mettaton’s inorganic guts twist while Frisk tried to soothe his cousin. When Napstablook spoke again, it was to wail. _“Oh, god, I told you to kill yourself! I didn’t know—I didn’t know!”_

            Mettaton’s fists unclenched, but his smile turned sour as he slouched against the seat cushions. “Well. Now you know why you shouldn’t tell strangers to kill themselves, don’t you, Blooky?”

            More crying; it didn’t make him feel better or even vindicated. Instead, it made him feel old.

            Frisk shushed Napstablook for a moment before their voice came over the line again—they must have turned the speaker phone on. _“Why don’t we start over?”_ they suggested. _“How did all this happen?”_

            Napstablook sniffled. _“I-it started after… after he started that human loving club.”_

            “No,” Mettaton sighed, “it began earlier than that.” At his cousin’s sound of confusion, he settled deeper into the cushions. “You two better sit down. This is probably going to be a long story.”

 

 

 

            October was crisp and cool that year; the leaves changed colors early, setting a lovely backdrop for the Liberation Day celebrations. Mettaton was glad for the excellent scenery for his show, but as the annual pilgrimage through the Underground wound down and headed towards the castle, it was taking all of his nerve to look cool and composed and not toss down his mic to go hide somewhere in the castle. It didn’t help that his nearest companion was Undyne, who was cheerfully ordering the guard around. She was round already with her pregnancy—she and Alphys accidentally got started on that family business a little too early—but it did nothing to slow her down. She only barely agreed to sit out this year’s guard duty, accepting a more passive position as she overlooked the guards for the celebration.

            “You seem to be having fun,” he remarked, less out of genuine fondness for the captain and more just to have something to say. The crowds had reached New Home now; soon the princes, their mother, and the rest of the hoard would reach the castle. And for once, a ghost would be among them, probably floating next to Frisk. Knowing his cousin, they might very well be trying to think of an excuse to skip out.

            Well, at least that would make two of them.

            Undyne turned to him and grinned, her teeth flashing in the light, all menace and no mirth. “I might be the size of a house but at least I get to have _some_ pleasures. Besides, I have to keep an eye on these assholes or someone’s going to start slacking off. Then I’m going to have to chuck a spear through a skull to smarten them up.”

            Alphys sighed from where she sat next to her wife. “Undyne, gaining LV is bad for the baby.”

            Undyne snorted. “Yeah, but these idiots don’t know that.”

            Well, he had to admit, that was a _little_ funny.

            “The princes and queen are in sight!” one of the guards called.

            The cry snapped all the guards to attention, especially once Undyne started shouting orders to the ranks. Asgore stood from his chair and even Alphys rose to follow after her wife, to keep her from overexerting herself. Mettaton let the change sweep him away too as he snapped his fingers at the camera and sound crew to start recording again.

            Once the lights flashed on and they gave him a signal, Mettaton put on his best smile and beamed into the camera. “At long last, the first of today’s celebration attendees have arrived and are now approaching the castle here in New Home! The princes and their mother, the Lady Toriel, are out at the front of the crowd. Let’s get a shot of the Royal Family now!”

            In a control room, the camera showing the front of the crowd would be turning on. Still, he kept his smile in place as he led the crew over to the side where they could wait out of the way. Keeping up a commentary, he looked down at the crowd, his eyes enhancing to see the figures in front as they started the climb up the castle. He could easily see Asriel—it was his turn this year, Frisk had told him, to walk besides his mother, which was why the prince looked so stiff next to her, the poor lamb—and his mother. Behind them, Papyrus followed faithfully. There were some more members of the Royal Guard as well, but behind them, he could see Frisk as well. Sans walked at one side of them, wary of the crowd surrounding them, and on the other side of Frisk was…

            He forced himself to cough as he accidentally paused. Better to cough delicately than fall quiet—dead air might have well as equaled death after all.

            His cousin was much as he remembered them. Pale and thin as they floated besides Frisk; the ambassador was talking to them, perhaps comforting them? He didn’t know.

            God, could he do this?

            The princes and the former queen at last climbed up to greet Asgore, stepping away to take their places at his sides as Frisk stepped up to greet him as well. Once they were finished exchanging greetings, Asgore nodded and went to stand at the front of the balcony.

            “King Asgore steps forward to begin his annual address to his people,” Mettaton said in hushed tones. “We here at MTT news bring you up close for this speech.” With a signal of his hand, the feed on the mic cut out so the control booth could pick up the speech. Mettaton took a moment to lower the mic and glance away from the king to look around.

            The old Overlord still knew how to give a good speech, but Mettaton wasn’t the only one whose attention wandered. From their place of honor, Frisk smiled at him and nodded. He managed a smile in return, but then his eyes slid over to Napstablook.

            It was always hard to read Napstablook’s expression, but he knew where to look in the monster’s posture to read them. His cousin was nervous, shy, but gazing at him with something that might have been hope.

            He _hoped_ it was hope.

            Once the speech ended and Asgore invited the crowds to finish the journey by joining them on the other side of the exit, Mettaton signed off. There was still more stuff to film, more celebrations to attend, but for the moment, he gave the signal to cut the broadcast and to disperse. His crew was happy to flee instantly, off to join family and friends. He turned and found that his cousin had followed Frisk and the others on the final leg of the journey. Curious, he hurried after them as well; after all, this would be Blooky’s first time out of the Underground. He wanted to see what his cousin thought.

            Once outside, he found the group had paused just outside the exit—that wasn’t weird. Asgore and Toriel would remain at the exit to see the crowds off as they ventured out, returning home or looking for more parties. Frisk and the others had to stay behind as well, mostly to support Asriel as he joined his parents in wishing farewells to the leaving crowds. At the moment, Frisk and Papyrus were talking to Undyne, who stood with one hand bracing the small of her back while her hand rested protectively over her stomach. Alphys was talking to Sans about something or another.

            And Napstablook was staring out at the world below.

            Taking a breath, Mettaton ignored his friends and acquaintances as he stopped by his cousin’s side. Turning to look, he could at last read the awe and wonder in his cousin’s face, for once completely open. He smiled, just a tad. “Told you the view was great.”

            His cousin jumped and looked at him.

            “Bet you wish you had seen it sooner,” he went on archly, still watching them.

            “Mettaton,” they managed, voice so soft. For once, the rage was all gone and they sounded as lost as they ever had.

            Huh. How nostalgic. “Long time no see, Blooky.”

            In the distance, the sun sank. In his heart, he hoped that when it returned in the morning, it would be the dawn to signal something new. He _hoped_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late, very late, and for that I'm sorry. I actually could have posted something last week, but I really wanted to post this chapter first. I'm sorry if it seems rushed because, well, it was. I had some bad writer's block and I literally just finished writing and re-reading it.
> 
> One of the reasons I rushed this was today is the day that the FCC is going to be voting on Ne Neutrality; while that may not seem important to you, I literally cannot afford a change like that, as if I have to pay extra to get access to this or ff.net, then I probably will have to go on a very long hiatus. If the worse does happen, I'll see what I can do to try and keep posting, but if that can't happen, then I'm afraid it might be awhile before you hear from me again. Say a prayer for my poor ass and hope that the FCC doesn't screw us all over.
> 
> I don't remember if I said this last time, but this and the last chapter's titles come from The Beatles' song, Hey Jude. It's a song about opening up to new things and people, to keep pushing forward. It felt fitting.
> 
> There was more I wanted to put here but it's 5:15 AM and I'm fried. If I think of something I'll edit this note. Until next time, lovely readers.


	32. How to not communicate with your Significant Other 101

            The first thing Frisk noticed—well, after the knife, obviously—was that the man racing at Royal Family was human. The second was that he had murder in his eyes, shining with a fanatical light. Even in this world, a monster could only hold up so much to the rage of a human out for monster dust. When he started charging forward, towards Asriel, towards his parents, that was what was in Frisk’s mind as they stepped away from the others and tackled the man to the ground: keep him from Asriel and his parents, keep him and his blade away from the others.

            _And to think, the conference had been going so well,_ an unhelpful part of their brain chimed as they struggled to get a better grip on the man’s arm. They wished suddenly that they had worn their fingerless gloves; maybe then they could have at least dug their short nails into his arm and got a better hold of him.

            _This was a terrible idea_ , they thought for a moment; around them, cameras flashed, people screamed, and someone—Asriel? Sans?—called out their name. That was when the would-be assassin freed his arm enough to slide his knife between Frisk’s ribs. For a moment, they could see the twisted victory in that man’s eyes as their vision went black.

            But their soul refused to perish.

            It was almost worth it, to see that look of confusion in the man’s face as life suddenly returned to their own. They nearly grinned; instead, they pulled their arm back and then punched him as hard as they could in his face. There was a satisfying crack as his skull bounced off the wooden boards of the stage and his eyes rolled back as he fell into unconsciousness.

            _That got the job done,_ they thought as they pulled back to assess the damage they’d inflicted. _The Undyne of that other world would probably have something to say about that sloppiness, but I don’t think she’d argue that at least I made sure to finish the job._

They flinched as they felt someone grab them by the arms and then yank them away. They’d forgotten just for a second that they hadn’t been alone in the room. Standing behind them, Undyne shot them an unreadable look and hauled them back before shoving them away. They were off balance—it was Papyrus who caught and steadied them, but in the next moment Asriel launched himself into their side and they nearly fell over again. He was crying and instinctually they reached down to comfort him, but it was Papyrus’s words who finally cut through the adrenaline fog in between their ears.

            “Frisk, are you hurt?”

            They blinked, remembered the nearly manic crowd of reporters around them, now joined by the monster and human security teams that were trying to get control of the situation, and decided to go with a half truth. “I’m fine now.”

            All at once, Toriel and others appeared at their side, asking all the same question and Frisk quickly became tired of constantly saying that they weren’t hurt. “No, it’s fine, I’m fine,” they said one last time as they feel their patience splintering. When they saw the disbelieving look Toriel shot them, they tried a wry smile. “Honestly, I’m more worried about my suit. It’s one of my favorites.” They grinned at her exasperated expression and turned to Papyrus, ready to tell him to grab Asriel and teleport him home and away from this chaos when it seemed Sans finally had enough with all this.

            “You FUCKING _IDIOT!”_

            The shout somehow carried over the racket that the press and security was making and then everyone’s attention snapped to them. Frisk felt hot and startled to the core to have all that attention thrown on them, their heart still racing from wrestling with the would-be assassin. They turned to see Sans behind them, practically vibrating as he glared at them.

            _He looks pissed,_ they thought. _And if he thinks that I’m going to stand here, letting him shout at me like that, well, then there’s going to be two of us pissed now._

            They glared at him, trying to tap down on their racing heart. “Sans, we’re in public.”

            That only seemed to make him more infuriated, he raised his hands like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to clutch his head or throttle them. “Who the fuck CARES if we’re in public or not! You got fucking _stabbed_ and you’re worried about your stupid _suit?_ What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

            Their hands were shaking where they clutched Asriel’s shirt in their fingers. Carefully, they untangled themselves from their grasp, their eyes still fixed on Sans for a moment. “We can talk about this at home,” they said and turned to Papyrus before Sans could interrupt again. “Papyrus, please get-”

            He didn’t wait for them to finish; one of his hands grabbed Asriel but the other reached out and caught them as well. One moment they were in the conference room, the next they stumbled as they reappeared in the living room. Asriel looked just as surprised as them, surprised enough that he staggered into Papyrus, who managed to catch him.

            Frisk winced and held their hand out to him, to comfort and be comforted— _worth it, worth it, it was all worth it, I’d do it again if it keeps him safe—_ but then there was another pop as air was displaced. Frisk ignored Sans for a moment to cup Asriel’s cheek, a question in their eyes.

            “I’m fine,” he murmured, understanding them.

            Frisk smiled but then Sans grabbed them by the elbow and whirled them around. Their vision spun for a moment, too much movement in the last few minutes without a chance to catch their breath, but they managed to grab the couch to keep them steady.

            “Don’t fucking ignore me!” Sans snapped, red eyes shining extra bright, betraying the fact his emotions were running high. “You got yourself fucking stabbed by some half-baked assassin-”

            Safely out of the public eye, they let themselves feel a moment of righteous indignation. “A human assassin who was very eager to do whatever he could to hurt any of-!”

            “That you could have left for _any of the rest of the guards_ to deal with! Hell, _I_ could have done something if it wasn’t for you tackling that schmuck and getting yourself so tangled up that I could barely see how to separate you _and then you let yourself get stabbed_ ,” he huffed, nearly out of breath before he threw his hands up. “And then you have the audacity to just stand there like it was all hunky-dory like you didn’t just fucking die for a second! Good _god,_ when did you turn into such a-”

            “Don’t you dare call me an idiot again, Sans,” they hissed. “And don’t you _ever_ try to start screaming at me again in front of a bunch of reporters and cameras-”

            _“I’ll scream at you however much I want when you act like an idiot and endanger yourself just to play fucking hero like some goddamn-”_

            They couldn’t quite remember lifting their fist, nor could they remember anything else but the all consuming fury that rose up and grabbed them by the throat. Then there was a crack of wood as the top part of the couch’s frame snapped below their fist as they brought it down. There was a moment of shocked silence where even Frisk was a little stunned by their violence; then sickening shame swept over them, battling the fury back, but only to the point where they could just glare at Sans. Carefully, they pulled their hand away from the broken frame, ignoring the shrieking pain in their hand—something in it had broken as much as the top part of the frame had when they hit it, considering they’d hit it with the soft outside edge of their fist. Still, the anger boiled as they looked into Sans’ face. “Don’t underestimate a human’s need for violence. At least I can come back if I get stabbed. A monster wouldn’t.”

            That was all they could manage—their hand hurt, their body felt tired and heavy, but their blood was boiling and they needed to get away before they broke something they would really regret. Without another word, they marched past Sans and up the stairs. There was a faint cry of their name—Asriel, they thought—but the need to be alone drove them to their room.

            Once inside, they snapped the lock on the door and tried to catch a breath. No good; now in the silence of the room, their mind began to whirl. How _dare_ Sans do that—berate and insult them in front of live cameras, to degrade them in front of the world _and_ the princes and Papyrus? How dare he think they’d just stand idly by while death tried to snuff out the lives of any of the Dremurrs? Even if they weren’t nearly as close to this Toriel or Asgore, they’d sooner die then see something happen to them.

            What did it matter that they’d gotten stabbed anyway? They were fine now, weren’t they?

            Their hand throbbed in protest at the thought; wincing, Frisk hurried over to the nightstand and dug out a monster cigarette. Lighting it, the ache in their hand vanished, but the unpleasing taste of the healing item annoyed them. The moment it was used up, they reached into their drawer again and dragged out the packet of actual tobacco cigarettes that they’d forgotten about after they told Sans they’d give it up in favor of monster brands. Lighting that up, they took a hit and then breathed a sigh of relief at the taste and the true nicotine took the edge off of them.

            Still, the cigarette only helped so much. Quickly, they stripped off their clothes and binder and examined them—ruined. Well, perhaps the suit could be saved since the blood had vanished after their soul healed itself, but the binder’s fabric couldn’t be. Immensely annoyed at that as well as everything else, they chucked their favorite binder into a trashcan and dug themselves out some more clothes. They almost grabbed one of Sans’ sweaters to wear out of habit, but then caught themselves and decided to ignore it on principle. Once they were dressed, they found themselves pacing.

            Sans was infuriating, they’d always known that—hell, sometimes that trait was downright amusing, but this time he’d driven them to the brink. They winced again at the memory of the broken couch frame. They’d probably have to get a new couch now. “Fucking damnit,” they cursed, gripping one elbow while their free hand clutched at the cigarette.

            How could he say those things? How could they let him get under their skin like that? Hadn’t they been better than this? No, obviously, they couldn’t be, otherwise why regress now? No, they had to be-

            They paused, clenching their eyes shut. _No,_ they thought with purpose, _don’t think that way. That’s the dumb part of your brain talking, remember? We didn’t hurt anyone—that didn’t deserve it at least—and we’re fine. We’re all fine. Focus, Frisk._

            But they couldn’t. The moment they got close to peace or clarity, they found themselves spiraling back into their anger and shame again. Before they knew it, they could feel that bone deep itch, dragging at their soul, telling them to leave, to just take off once more.

            Honestly, it felt like the best choice. Maybe once out on the road, they would start to feel like they could breathe again.

            Decision made after only a moment, they ransacked their drawer again and found the key ring with spare keys to the house and their motorcycle that they kept there, just in case they lost the other ones. They thought for a moment about just going downstairs to get their coat, but the thought of running into Sans on the way out made their skin itch more. Grabbing their cigarettes and a thick sweater for warmth, they walked out onto their balcony and climbed over the ledge. They were an old hand at this trick—they climbed down so they could hang off the edge and then dropped the rest of the way to the ground. Going in the back of the garage, they grabbed their bike and helmet. The garage door was shut, so rather than sneakily try to slip out and walk the bike down the street to avoid notice, they just hit the button to lift the door and then started their engine. If someone heard their racket, they didn’t come out in time to stop them before they pulled out of the garage and then peeled off down the street.

 

 

 

 

            Out on the open road, they found themselves able to breathe again. They were still angry, but at least they didn’t want the punch the shit out of the first guy who cut them off in traffic. For hours, they drove until they suddenly found themselves driving out of a tunnel only to see a beach stretching out below them. The sun was hanging low in the sky now, soon to set. A whim to stop and watch the sunset struck them and they pulled off near a little convenience store.

            Climbing off the bike, they were pleased to note that the beach was mostly empty for once. It was an unseasonably cold day even for this late in the year, scaring off the tourists, but leaving behind the more dedicated swimmers, surfers, and general beach enthusiasts to enjoy the place in peace. Smiling at it, they took a breath and pulled off their helmet before climbing off their bike and walking down to the surf.

            Maybe they’d never swim, but that didn’t mean Frisk couldn’t admire the beach and the surf. The crash of the waves and the glitter of light off the water soothed them. The itch was subsiding, a pleasant surprise. Smiling to themselves, they pulled out another cigarette but then paused and looked down at the pack.

            There was only one cigarette left, which meant must have chain smoked at least eight of the things. Feeling guilty and a little sick at the realization, they frowned and looked away. Fuck, how petty were they, to go back on their promise to Sans to stop smoking these just because they could? Even if that hadn’t been their thought at that moment, weren’t they supposed to be the bigger person and stick to their promises? Guilty, they glanced around for a trashcan.

            They spotted one back by the convenience store. They walked over and tossed the pack away and then regarded the store. With a hope and a prayer, they ducked into the store and looked behind the cashier to see what he had for cigarettes. There were the normal human brands, even the ones they’d favored from before. But, more importantly, there was not one, but two brands of monster cigarettes. Some enterprising monsters must have moved out this way and started selling them very recently. Neither was Frisk’s preferred brand, but they’d make do to assuage the guilt they still felt. They got in line and then bought a pack before walking back out.

            The sun was sinking fast now, getting ready to set. They were losing daylight, but they couldn’t bring themselves to climb back onto the bike. They knew, without having to think twice about it, that they needed to head back home. Running off any farther would mean that they wouldn’t get back until exceptionally late in the morning, late even for them. They didn’t have much in the way of meetings tomorrow, but they had paperwork waiting and they’d been looking forward to loafing around at home while they did them. They had planned to listen to some new cds while Papyrus and Chara were gone at the school; Sans, they figured, would probably have napped on the sofa or in the chair.

            They paused at the thought of the family they’d more or less adopted, although they weren’t sure ‘adopted’ was the right phrase for it. But what else would you call stewardship of two children and the two brothers that protected them? Frisk and Sans have fooled around multiple times and their banter just as often drifted towards flirting as it did anything else, but there had been no grand declaration of affection from either of them. Sans had called them his only friend and then he later amended it to his best friend, and often that was enough for them. It _usually_ was enough. The two of them were definitely creeping towards _something_ but Frisk could count the times they’ve been certainly in love with someone with a single finger, and they were not sure if they’d dare name whatever it was they had just yet as love. He made them laugh, made them peaceful, and he kept their secrets for them, like they kept his. He protected them, always keeping a close eye on them.

            The thought made them wince. He had yelled earlier about them not letting him or any of the other guards handle the human, and now they realized why. They must have scared everyone terribly, even if their logic was mostly correct—a human had a better chance at stopping a rampaging human and while Frisk might indeed be a lover rather than a fighter, Frisk _was_ trained by Undyne to know how to protect themselves. But, in the heat of the moment, they’d forgotten that anyone else could have kept their distance from the assassin’s knife and picked him off from a safe distance. Frisk barreling in only created confusion. It also would have looked bad if one of the guards hurt Frisk while trying to take out the human.

            _What a mess,_ they sighed and dug out a cigarette. Lighting it, they took a deep inhale, forgetting to mourn the taste. Watching the sun sinking towards the waves, they allowed themselves to accept the fact that they owed Sans and Papyrus at least an apology, and probably Undyne and every other member of the Royal Guard one too. It probably looked like they didn’t trust the Guard to do their own jobs. That wasn’t the case, not even a little, but there was probably something here that they should examine closely. That they thought so little of their worth that they made little better than a meat shield at times. But that was a lot of examination for another time; something that they could do from the privacy of their own bedroom, not out here in public.

            There was something more important right now; while they definitely owed someone an apology, more than anything they needed to call Asriel. If it had been him calling their name as they stalked away, then they’d probably worried him, and he deserved better than that. They could at least tell him they’d be home soon enough.

            Tucking the pack of cigarettes away along with the lighter, they patted their pockets, looking for their phone. They frowned at their mostly empty pockets and tried their other ones. After a moment, they were practically groping themselves trying to feel the lump of the phone in their clothes. At last, they groaned. They’d forgotten their phone. Hell, it could still be at the building where the conference had been; they’d left in a fast enough hurry. No wonder no one had interrupted them yet—they didn’t even have the damn thing on hand.

            “Fuck,” they whispered. Now they _had_ to get home soon; as embarrassing as it was to admit it, they didn’t remember anyone’s number nowadays when they could just plug the contact information into their phone and never have to dial it out by hand again.

            With a sigh, they finished their cigarette in time to watch the sun vanish below the horizon. Was Chara watching the sunset tonight, or was Asriel watching a cartoon? Had Papyrus sent the kids to bed early because of all the ruckus today, or was he letting them sit up because they were too wired to sleep?

            Was Sans still furious with them? Was Asriel or Chara or Papyrus?

            Absorbing the last of the magic of the cigarette, they marched back to their bike and started it up once more. Just before they drove off, they glanced back out at the water. _Funny,_ they thought sarcastically, turning back and starting the engine. _Running off was a lot more fun when I took Sans with me._

 

 

 

 

            The ride home was long and a little harrowing—people could often be assholes for no reason when they saw someone on a motorcycle, but people got especially dickish after dark. They liked to pretend they couldn’t see Frisk in the dark, but worse today, the drivers kinda had a point. Frisk’s sweater was dark and they didn’t even have a reflective vest to wear to brighten them up some. They were careful driving home, so they didn’t arrive there until nearly four in the morning. Frisk killed the bike while they were still down the road and walked it up to the house so they didn’t wake everyone up. The garage door was shut when they got there, so rather than make a bunch of noise, they walked their bike around the garage and tugged it through the backdoor. It wasn’t an easy of a trick to do with a motorcycle, but they’d done it plenty of times with their old dirtbikes as a teen—Toriel hated when they stayed out late.

            Once their bike was safely away, they entered through the kitchen. The entire house was dark—no one had thought to leave a light on for them, or they’d done it out of spite. They doubted Asriel would do that, but they could see either of the brothers doing it. Sighing, they yanked off their shoes and left them by the door. They didn’t bother to turn on lights as they walked through the kitchen, but they paused as they passed by the couch. Taking a moment, they took a step back and reached out to feel the dip of the top of the couch—they’d done a real number on it.

            “Fuck,” they muttered, pressing their fingers into the cushion and feeling the damaged wood buckle beneath their fingers. “God, that was so immature.” They huffed a mirthless laugh and pulled their hand back to shove the hair out of their face. “Some example for a guardian I am.” They really needed to apologize.

            Shaking their head, they began the long climb up the stairs, but when they walked to their bedroom door, they stopped. Was Sans in there? There was still a guest room set up downstairs that technically qualified as his, but he slept with them usually. But was he doing that tonight? Was he so disgusted by their childish temper tantrum that he returned to his own room for the night? For permanently?

            Or worse—what if he’d been _afraid_ of their temper? He’d been so quiet and shocked after they broke the couch, what if he realized that maybe they were more dangerous than they pretended to be?

            Maybe they should sleep on the couch tonight, sleep with the shameful evidence like a penance.

            A sound startled out of their thoughts and their clenched heart stilled for a moment as they listened. Then they heard the sound again—a sharp, but muffled cry in the night. Without another thought, they hurried into Asriel and Chara’s room.

            In bed, Asriel twisted and cried out again, his face pinched. He managed to tangle the sheets around him as he tried to escape in his nightmares. Quickly, they freed him from the covers’ grip and then shook him gently awake. “Asriel,” they called, firm but soft. “Asriel, you’re dreaming! Shh.”

            His eyes snapped open but they were delirious with sleep for a moment until he realized who he was looking at. “Frisk!” he gasped, his voice tight and tearful. Before they could even smile at him, sat up and tossed his arms around their neck. “You’re back,” he hiccupped.

            Smiling gently, they rubbed his back and made soothing sounds. “I wasn’t planning to stay away, sweetheart,” they murmured. “I just took a little drive to clear my head.”

            “You left your phone behind,” he accused them. They nearly winced—of course, they should have suspected he’d be suspicious of that. He knew they claimed they forgot to take a cell phone with them when they were young, when they ran away from home for a year.

            “I honestly forgot it,” they tried. “Once I realized I forgot it, I turned right around.”

            He looked at them like he wanted to believe as he sat back a little to rub his eyes. “Where did you go? Did you just get home?”

            They reached up and brushed some tears from his face—to their relief, he let them. Perhaps he was in a forgiving mood. “I drove until I found a beach. I stayed there for a few minutes, watched the sunset. Then I realized I forgot my phone, so I headed back. I got in a just a little bit ago.”

            He sniffled, but didn’t shrug off their hands as they soothed and petted his face. “You left,” he whispered again, less of an accusation and more of an admission of grief.

            They pressed a kiss to brow. “I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t planning to be gone long, but I didn’t mean to worry anyone. That was wrong of me. Can you forgive me?”

            He nodded at last; the moment he did, he crawled up into their lap. At eight years old, he was getting a little big for it, but Frisk was glad to pull him close and cuddle him. “Chara’s mad at you.”

            “Understandable,” they agreed with a nod. “I owe them an apology too. Can you tell them I’m sorry?”

            Asriel paused and then chuckled a little. “They say that they’ll only forgive you if you get them some chocolate cake.”

            They smiled. “Do they want a regular cake or an ice cream cake?”

            Asriel waited a moment. “They’ll think about it.”

            That made them chuckle and Asriel joined them. After a moment of shared amusement, turned about, careful not to set him down, but moved around so they could press their back against his headboard for more support. Once they did so, they went right back to cuddling him. “So, were you having a nightmare?”

            “Hmm?” He sounded sleepy already.

            “When I came in, you were crying out. I’m surprised Papyrus hadn’t come to check on you yet.”

            “He’s tired,” Asriel answered, yawing. “After you went up to your room, Undyne called.”

            “What did she want?”

            “To yell at you,” he answered bluntly. “Also, you left your phone on the conference table. She’ll drop it off tomorrow.”

            “Mmm, and probably yell at me at the same time.” They tried not to sigh. “I deserve it. Why did Undyne calling him make him tired?”

            “Cause then Sans wanted to yell at her and then Undyne threatened _him_ ,” he paused, yawning even wider. Frisk nearly copied him, instead they focused on the sudden warmth in their chest. “And then Sans just started complaining about you in general, even after Papyrus got her off the phone.”

            The warmth dimmed a little, but they still smiled. “Poor Papyrus. He must have had a headache. And poor you, too. Sorry I left you an awful mess to have to deal with while I was gone.”

            He nodded, tucking himself tighter against them, curling up against their front. “It was very loud.”

            They nodded, mostly to themselves, and patted his back. “So, were you having a nightmare?”

            “Hmm?”

            “When I came in. You cried out.” They didn’t point out he was avoiding their question.

            He was quiet for so long, they thought he had fallen asleep. At last, he shrugged. “I dreamed you didn’t come back.”

            “From my drive?”

            He nodded then shook his head. “From that. From when you got stabbed.” He sniffed, not a wet sound, more of a generic sleepy sound. At least they hoped so. “Bad dreams.”

            “I’m here,” they reassured him, pressing their cheek against the top of his head. “I’m back.”

            He mumbled something, but it was too indistinct to make out.

            Smiling, they started to shift him around so they could lay him down properly on the bed, but then he groaned and clutched their sweater into his fists. Carefully, they caught his hands before he could tear holes with his claws. “Shh, shh, shh. I’m just laying you down. It’s alright, my love.”

            “Stay,” he murmured, voice clear. “Don’t go away again.”

            Their heart cracked. “I won’t,” they promised him. “Here, I’ll lay here right besides you. I promise, I won’t go anywhere else.”

            “Promise?” he asked, voice faint.

            “Promise,” they repeated and once his claws loosened, they untangled them his hands and slipped him down onto the bed into a more comfortable position. They got up for a moment to tuck him in, then crawled back on top of the covers—Asriel sometimes kicked in his sleep, but at least this way he probably wouldn’t scratch at them with his feet. He fussed for a moment, but once they curled up around him, he settled down. They followed him into sleep faster than they would have suspected, listening to the sound of his even breathing.

 

 

 

 

            In the morning, Papyrus woke as he usually did, bright and early. Well, at least early—he still had traces of a headache haunting him, but he felt better for the sleep. He got up and got Chara’s lunch ready for the day before he went to get his charges up. He hadn’t noticed Frisk’s shoes by the kitchen door, but he instantly spotted them when he ducked into the princes’ bedroom. His shoulders slumped a little at the sight of them curled up on the small bed, Asriel tucked into their arms. Abruptly, most of the remains of his headache vanished and he happily stepped forward to wake his charges and his friend.

            Asriel blinked himself awake after a moment, but Frisk only groaned—not really a surprise. They were only a tiny bit more of a morning person than his brother, and that’s saying something. Asriel looked down at them, relieved, but then Chara shook their head and took over.

            They glanced up at Papyrus. “I can’t get dressed with them in my room.”

            He nodded. “I’ll go wake up Sans and he can take them back to their room. You just go eat something.”

            They accepted without complaint and walked down the stairs as he slipped into Frisk’s bedroom.

            His brother was right where he’d assumed he would be, curled up in his usual spot, his face tightly pinched. That didn’t surprise him either. He walked around to the far side of the bed and shook Sans awake.

            For once, Sans snapped awake, a startled noise escaped him before he realized it was just Papyrus. He grumbled about something—not even he knew what—while his brother straightened.

            “Frisk returned,” Papyrus told him bluntly as he straightened. “They are in the princes’ room. Go get them out of there so my charges can get on with the rest of their day.”

            Sans cursed and rubbed at his eye sockets.

            _“Now,_ Sans,” Papyrus ordered one last time and then walked out to get on with his own day as well.

            In the room, Sans dropped his hands from his face and frowned as he looked out of the bedroom door, across the hall, and into the kids’ room. If he strained, he could see what looked like a shape on the kids’ bed, but it could have easily been messy bedclothes rather than Frisk’s sleeping form. Finally, he slid out of bed and walked out of his—their?—room and into the princes’ room.

            Frisk was asleep on the bed, curled up on their right side so their legs wouldn’t hang off the edge. It can’t be terribly comfortable, but then he once found Frisk asleep wedged under a desk, body curled tight as a fist and another time he found them asleep folded in half over a pipe, so it wasn’t the most uncomfortable he’d seen them sleep. They wore a thick sweater and their jeans still, which was probably a little too warm. Still, they look peaceful.

            Without a word, he braced one knee up on top of the bed so he could hoist himself up more. He put one hand on their shoulder—definitely a little warm—and then another on their thigh. Then he took a deep breath and shoved.

            They hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. A _noisy_ sack of potatoes—they yelped in their sleep and sat up, but their eyes immediately slid to half mast; they smacked their lips noisily.

            He glared at them. “You asshole. Where the hell have you been all night?”

            They blinked at him.

            “You left your cell phone, dipshit. You know how many people have been trying to find out what happened to you? People have been constantly calling my phone for you. Reporters too. I ought to throttle you.”

            Frisk’s eyelids finally lost the battle to gravity, as did the rest of their body. Instantly, they flopped to the ground and began to snore—they were keeled over so that their torso was nearly making an upside down U shape to the ground. _This_ was probably the most uncomfortable he’d seen them sleep.

            He stared at them a moment before tossing his hands up into the air. “Un-fucking-believable.” He glanced down at them, looked at their surprisingly peaceful face, and then ran a hand over the curve of his skull. Pulling his hand away, he snapped his fingers—blue magic surrounded Frisk, their soul appearing as their body lifted off the ground. “You’re a real pain in my ass,” he told them and gestured the floating body to follow him as he walked back to their room.

            Once inside, he shut the door and gestured them towards the bed. Before he placed them down on it, he pulled off their socks and yanked off their sweater. The shirt they had on underneath it was slightly damp from sweat, but it’d due for now. He tugged off their jeans and tossed them aside before he pulled back the covers and motioned them down. Once they were on the bed, he covered them back up—almost immediately, they rolled over and faced the same direction they usually did, facing his side of the bed. For a moment, he paused and then reached out and tugged their hair loose, dropping their hair tie onto the nightstand next to them.

            Finally, he walked back around the bed and climbed into his own side, eager to get back under the covers, but once he was there, he couldn’t help but look into their sleeping face.

            Frisk was usually more of a morning person than this. When had they gotten in? Had they spoken to Asriel for some reason—surely they must have, why else would they sleep next to the kid all night?

            Why hadn’t they come to their own bed?

            His hands clenched and unclenched helplessly, but the steady, familiar sound of their breathing carried him off to sleep before he could think of more questions to torture himself with.

 

 

 

 

            They knew before they opened their eyes that someone has moved them to their proper bed. For one, their legs were stretched out, as was their arms. For another, someone had pulled off their pants and sweater, and there was only one person in the house who would take such liberties with their body. Also, they had a handful of Sans’ shirt in their hands—they must have grabbed it as they slept and refused to let go.

            They should probably just face the music and open their eyes, but at the moment they were indulging themselves in the simple pleasure of the small physical connection.

            It didn’t last; just as they started to drift back out, they heard Sans sigh and then felt him put his hand on their wrist. Gently, he tugged their hand free; before they could stop themselves, they groaned a protest. “No. Wake up.”

            _You know,_ they thought as they tried find the strength to pry their eyes open, _usually it’s him who drags their feet about admitting their wrong. Oh, how the tables have turned._ Once they got their eyes open, they found Sans’ eyes staring intently back into their own. “Morning,” they offered.

            He didn’t take the peace offering, not that it was much of one. “When did you get back in?”

            They screwed up their face trying to recall. “…four? I think?”

            He glared at them. “You took off on us.” _You took off on **me** ,_ he didn’t say because he had _some_ dignity left, thank you very much. “Where the fuck did you go that you didn’t think to call us?”

            “The beach.”

            It was his turned to scrunch up his face at them. “You went up into the mountains?” He thought they meant up to one of the lakes in the valleys of the local mountain range. There was a few pretty lakes that Frisk, Asriel, and Papyrus have gone hiking out to see, usually dragging him along as well.

            “Mm, I mean more like Pacific ocean.”

            His glare intensified. “You went. To the ocean.”

            Hoo boy. They sure hadn’t done themselves any favors this time. Idly, they began to scratch at the inside of their free wrist. “I did. I didn’t stay long.”

            “And why’s that?” he asked, voice waspish.

            “I realized I didn’t have my phone on me. So I turned around.” They sighed. “I didn’t want to worry anyone by being gone too long.”

            “Worry? I wasn’t worried. I’m pissed.”

            “Mm, you do sound pretty hostile for someone who’s still holding my wrist so gently.”

            That caught him off guard; he released their limb, but before he could pull his hand back they caught his hand with one of their own. When he looked up, they pressed a kiss to his knuckles. His breath rattled in his chest.

            “Sorry,” they murmured, lips rubbing against his phalanges as they spoke. “I messed up a lot yesterday. I didn’t trust you or the others, then I got mad, and then I took off. It wasn’t very professional or mature of me. Sorry.”

            He let out his breath like he let a lead weight drop off him. “That’s not… stop it.”

            They blinked up at him. “Stop what?”

            He looked lost. “You shouldn’t—I don’t…” He stopped and sighed, looking away as he grumbled. “It was easier when you were being a prick.”

            They smiled and pressed another kiss against his fingers. “Sorry. Should I break some more furniture?”

            In spite of himself, he laughed. “You did a real number on the couch.”

            “Figured.”

            “Did you hurt your hand?” he asked after a moment.

            “Yes, but I healed it already.” They relaxed then tightened their grip on his hand, so he could see they weren’t pretending. “All better.”

            He didn’t look like he thought anything was ‘all better’ now. Instead, he took a breath. “I called you an idiot. In front of everyone. And after you told me not to.”

            They hide their smile behind his hand and considered what to say. On one hand, they _had_ been idiot, multiple times over. On the other, they weren’t sure if they should let him off the hook—it’d be one thing if they were _only_ friends or even colleagues. But no, technically, he worked for them and he’d done it in front of recording cameras. They probably had a nasty mess to clean up once they got up later—and oh, what a joy _that_ would be—and they probably had a list of people they needed to call, which probably included the police so they could give an account of what happened. They _should_ probably scold him.

            They just didn’t really feel like doing it though. Instead, they pressed a kiss to his brow, like a benediction. “I’ll look past your flaws if you’ll look past mine.”

            He was quiet for a moment before he ran his free hand over his face. “Just tell me something first. Why did you do it? Why did you decide you had to play hero and jump in the way?”

            When said like that, hero just sounded like another word for idiot. Still, they supposed they could at least try to give him an answer. “I already told you. It was a human trying to do something. As a human, I’d have a better chance of surviving, never mind the fact that I can just _refuse_ to die.” They paused, looking at his not-quite-pleased reaction before going on. “And… and honestly, if something did happen—to Asriel and Chara or either of their parents… I’d much rather it be me that died than any of them.”

            That seemed to startle him out of his displeasure for a moment. With a groan, he shook his head and buried his face into his free hand’s palm. _“Fucking christ,_ this is just…” If he had somewhere he was trying to go with that statement, Frisk never got to hear it. Instead, he just fell silent for a long time until he finally chuckled. “God, we’re a real fucking pair, aren’t we?”

            Frisk smiled, not exactly mirthful or happy, but let go of his hand to pat his cheekbone sympathetically. “As if we were made for each other, I’m sure.”

            He snorted. “How on earth do we put up with each other?”

            For a moment, Frisk opened their mouth, but then froze, startled by their own realization of what they’d started to speak. _‘Don’t you mean, how on earth do we manage to love each other?’_ But even thinking it hit entirely too close to the truth. They’d been wondering just what exactly the two of them had been heading for—friends? Lovers? Colleagues? Or something sadder, lonelier, something Frisk didn’t even want to consider—but now they had the obvious truth in front of them.

            Somewhere down the line, they’d fallen in love.

            Startled, Frisk giggled. When Sans shot them a puzzled look, they grinned nervously, but at the same time they snapped to a decision. For now, they’d keep their mouth shut—this was too big to blurt out. They needed time to digest it—and then consider what Sans would think of it.

            “What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow ridge at them. “What’s so funny?”

            For now, they found themselves laughing a little to themselves and patting Sans’ cheek with affectionate sympathy as he only looked more confused. “Nothing, it’s just—well. We made up. You know what that means we should do now?”

            He waited for them to answer before giving in and shrugging. “No?”

            They grinned. “Make up sex.”

            He looked at them for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “I ought to take that pillow and smother you with it.”

            “You’re smiling.”

            “I’m always smiling. It’s my curse.”

            “That and me. You still think it was funny.”

            “I do and I hate it.”

            Frisk laughed, making him chuckle as well. “Does this mean you don’t want to sleep with me?”

            “Well,” he muttered, reaching for them as well. “I didn’t say that now, did I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because it's been awhile, Frisk can still be quite the ditz. I wanted to show Sans and theirs first big argument, and this seemed the best way to do it--Frisk can be super passive and lenient when it comes to others trying to pick fights with them, so if they did have it a fight, it'd have to be over something big. Sorry if the end seemed rushed--the story kept wanting to pull in weird ways, so I had to cut it off before it got ridiculously long.
> 
> Come back Monday for the Christmas bonus story, okay? I'll make it a separate story so I won't have to mess with the rating for this story.


	33. Sorry for making you wait

            Frisk learned patience through years of working with others—working with monsters and humans alike, with good and terrible people, with people they never would have thought they would ever interact with at all. It was all to better monsters’ place in the world, but also a tiny bit to better themselves from the angry, bitter child they’d been.

            But that was the key point—Frisk _learned_ to be patient. They were not born that way and after the death of their mother and grandfather, it was a skill they’d lost for a time.

            Sometimes people misunderstood Frisk and their patience; they just assumed that it was some innate talent of theirs. Like a saint, people tended to assume that Frisk had infinite wells of patience to deal with others and their hang-ups. After all, Frisk almost never lost their temper in a meeting, interview, or conference, when someone’s patience was often tested to the extreme.

            People who thought that would be wrong.

            There was a lot Frisk would put up with—Sans putting his cold feet against the small of their back during the winter, that they could deal with. Papyrus nearly setting the house on fire, that they could handle with aplomb. Asriel not doing his homework so they would get a call from Toriel to get a severe talking to was a piece of cake.

            With Sans and Papyrus’ fractured relationship, on the other hand, there was only so much they were willing to bend. At first, it was shockingly understandable once Sans and Papyrus explained their parts in what had led them to where they were. They couldn’t find it in them to fault either brother for their parts. Even if Frisk wished the two of them would reconcile, they didn’t feel it was their place to try and force either brother to offer the other an olive branch. Especially since Sans never really seemed to believe them on their opinions on his and Papyrus’ relationship, while Papyrus just never wanted to volunteer any information about it if he could.

            They’d hoped that naturally, given time, the brothers would come to that point all on their own. Perhaps they would have to give the two a few nudges, to try to prompt deeper, more meaningful conversations that would lead _somewhere._ And sometimes, it seemed to work. They would nudge the brothers with their own thoughts and opinions; once in a while, it paid off and Frisk might wander into a room only to find the brothers there, talking like civilized people for once without threats or posturing. The atmosphere of the house would be lighter and Frisk would be hopeful.

            And then something would happen—something _always_ happened, even if it was small, stupid things—and Papyrus would be snarling and Sans would huffing, Frisk would have to break it up, and then Sans would mope while Papyrus stewed. After that, it’d be back to square one.

            But Frisk was hopeful and determined—surely, _one day_ they’d finally reconcile.

            However, after two years, Frisk was sick and fucking tired of this shit.

 

 

 

            The tensions rose in the house late in August, two years after the Barrier fell. The trouble began when a certain country that was not allowed to be named in the house—because Frisk and Sans would inevitably end up drinking while Papyrus would start fussing about everything—tried to start a fuss about monsters supposedly causing chaos in their borders. This was patently absurd as there were so few monster, they could actually track each one. Only a hand full had even left the country, let alone traveled to this country’s continent. It was absurd and probably just some local assholes up to their own mischief, but the government was using it as an excuse to stir up trouble by creating laws against monsters to setting up hunting regulations for how many monsters hunters could kill.

            It was horrifying, cruel, and not a terrible shock to Frisk, who lived through a similar reaction in their original’s world. Still, monsters were furious and there were several incidents where monsters shot off at the mouth on television before Frisk could play damage control, leading to further headaches. Luckily, it hadn’t come to physical violence yet, but with battle wary monsters, they were afraid that it might be coming any day now. The main trouble was that Frisk had gone through this scenario when they were still nine and used their youthful charm to their advantage by testifying in front of the UN about the kindness of monsters, winning enough people over that the offending country’s representatives were nearly shamed out of the building. After that, the new laws quietly died in parliament. Unfortunately, Frisk wasn’t still nine and cute as a button—they had almost considered taking Asriel with them to see if he or Chara could pull off a similar trick, but it seemed too risky. Eventually, it was Asgore himself who came up with the idea of borrowing Undyne and Alphys’ infant to take to the UN. The baby was so cute and charming, the representatives would end up quietly advising their leaders to drop the laws.

            That, however, was still five months from now—now, it was August, hot, humid, and sticky, even to the skeletons, and everyone was wound up by the tension. Even Asriel wasn’t exempt from it and seemed to be having more nightmares lately. Frisk tried to assure him it would all be alright, but it was hard to pretend they weren’t also a little jittery. The brothers weren’t helping at all, with their snapping and grumbling, always one step from full on shouting whenever Frisk wasn’t around to play negotiator.

            On one obnoxiously humid day, Frisk and Sans tried to  escape the heat by sitting in the kitchen, a couple massive floor fans rigged up with giant bowls of ice water in front of them in hopes that it would push a cooler breeze around. It wasn’t really working, but it was the thought that counted as they tried to look through their paperwork. Asriel was sitting at the kitchen table as well, working on homework, trying to draw a design for his science class for an upcoming project, to create bottle rockets. Papyrus was also in the kitchen, ransacking his cookbooks in search for recipes that wouldn’t involve heating up the kitchen.

            It was, for a brief moment, honestly not that bad of a day—hot and sticky, yes, but even Asriel occasionally distracting Frisk from working was perfectly tolerable. Then Frisk’s phone started ringing. They looked at the caller id and frowned.

            “It’s Toriel,” they declared before going on mostly to themselves. “I wonder what she wants?”

            Asriel looked up, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

            Frowning, Frisk waved him off. “Probably nothing bad. Do your homework. I’ll be back in a minute.” With that, they left, leaving Sans to grumble about his workload. Papyrus shot him a sharp look, but for a moment, everything was still okay.

            Asriel watched Frisk leave with a worried frown before reaching for a new sheet of paper. Grabbing it, he began to doodle on the back without a second thought. A moment later, he became aware that Sans was flipping through the papers. At first, he ignored the skeleton, but Sans only seemed to get more annoyed until he began hunting through Frisk’s piles of papers as well.

            Finally, he snapped. “Where is the goddamn Stasiuk proposal?”

            “Sans,” Papyrus began sharply. “Do _not_ curse in front of their highnesses!”

            “They’re going to hear a lot worse if I can’t find that stupid paper,” Sans grunted, stilling searching.

            Asriel frowned—he didn’t appreciate being treated like a little kid, even if it was coming from someone as well meaning as Papyrus—but then paused. Slowly, he glanced down at the paper he was drawing on and hesitatingly realized that the stock of paper was different from the rest of his school paper—the paper stock was brighter, smoother. Haltingly, he turned the paper over.

            No one had noticed that when Frisk left the room, the fan had caught one of the papers Frisk had turned over after they finished reading. Once the breeze caught the paper, it sent the paper gently skittering from the stack, sliding closer to the prince while everyone was distracted with Frisk leaving the room. When they all turned back to their work, Asriel had picked the paper up without a second thought.

            Looking on the other side of the paper, Asriel’s heart sank to see the typing on the other side didn’t even match the fonts that his teacher usually used. _Don’t panic,_ he thought, _Frisk will just probably laugh it off._ But Frisk wasn’t there at the moment. His tongue was cemented to the roof of his mouth, but somehow he managed to pry it loose. “Um,” he began, holding up the sheet. “I-is this the sheet you need?”

            Sans paused and blinked up at him before glancing at the paper. For a second, his shoulders relaxed, but then he paused. “That’s it,” he answered, shifting in his seat. He held his hand out. “Hand it over.”

            _Phew, it’s getting hot in here. Hotter in here. Is that just me?_

* **It is you. Asriel, just tell him. Get it over with.**

            “Ah, yeah, about that,” he mumbled, gripping the paper between his fingers. “I, uh, kinda thought it was one of mine, so I, um.” He winced and turned the paper around. “Drew on it.”

            It should be said, that if this had happened on any other day, Sans probably would have laughed and that would have been the end of it. He probably wouldn’t have even told Frisk, just shuffled it back into the pile so he could see their face when they got to their meeting and turned the sheet over only to find rockets doodled all over the back. But today was hot and tense and, well, Sans _would_ be the first to tell you he was an asshole.

            “You _fucking DREW on it?”_ he snapped, gesturing at the page. He ignored Asriel’s flinch and stood up to reach across the table to snatch the paper back. “Goddamnit, kid, I can’t just print out another-”

            He never got to finish his sentence or grab the paper—before his phalanges got anywhere close to the page, the familiar grip of blue magic swamped his body and he yanked back into his chair so hard that he and the chair fell over backward, his skull cracking loudly against the floor.

            “FUCK!” he screamed, but he couldn’t even clutch at his aching head.

            Next to his head, a booted heel slammed into the tiles. When he managed to open his eyes, he found his brother scowling down at him with a dark glare.

            “I told you,” he ground out, “ _not_ to cuss in front of my charges. And I don’t know to what new levels of stupidity you’ve sunken down to, but if you think I’m going to just stand by as you insult the princes, then, brother, you are sorely in need of re-education. And to threaten them?” His eye sockets began to burn red with his magic. “That’s so stupid, it’s almost suicidal.”

            On one hand, Asriel had to admit, he was happy (well, happier) by the turn of events. He’d gone cold and clammy when Sans had snapped at him; a tidal wave of memories swamped him for a moment, memories of the many deaths he’d suffered before Frisk arrived. Some of those deaths had been by Sans himself—Asriel had often had the bad luck of catching Sans in a sour mood only to get the brunt of his wrath. Still, whether Sans deserved whatever was coming or not, Asriel still felt guilty for causing his anger and worried what Frisk would say if they walked in the kitchen now. At the thought of Frisk, he slipped from his chair and scrambled out into the living room.

            Frisk was still talking on the phone, but they looked agitated and were trying to crane their neck about to see into the kitchen. At Asriel’s appearance, they pulled the phone from the side of their face, and covered the bottom half of their phone as they mouthed to him. “What’s going on in there?”

            Asriel raced to Frisk, tossing his arms around their waist. He let himself enjoy the security of their arms for only a moment before pulling back. He could hear his mother’s cross voice coming from the phone and Frisk looked worried as they reached down to rub his back. “Papyrus and Sans are fighting.”

            Frisk’s face went from concerned to annoyed in a flash. Setting their jaw, they looked up into the kitchen. “Toriel, can I call you back? I need to go separate some squabbling children. No, Asriel and Chara are behaving perfectly. Yes. I’ll talk to you later.” With that, they ended the call and started to stalk towards the kitchen. “What’s going on now?”

            “I accidentally drew on one of your papers and Sans got mad and was shouting and then Papyrus got mad and tossed him to the floor and now-”

            As soon as Frisk heard “tossed him to the floor”, they sprinted into the kitchen. “What the fuck is going on in here?” they half shouted.

            Asriel peeked in around them, hiding in the doorway. At least nothing worse had happened in the half minute he’d left the room.

            “My brother and I are having a little discussion,” Papyrus grumbled. “A discussion about how if he tries to scare or hurt my charges again, he’s going to find-”

            “Papyrus,” Frisk interrupted. Their tone was so chilly, he actually looked up at them, in time to find them giving a glare that could give the bite of Snowdin’s freezing winds a run for its money. “Let. Him. Up.”

            Papyrus paused and for a moment they thought he would refuse, but then the blue aura around Sans vanished. Neither skeleton looked very eager to test the chill in Frisk’s expression.

            “I just got a call from Toriel,” they began, unnecessarily. “About trying to come up with a plan for… recent events. I would have been happy to hear anything she could suggest. Too bad I couldn’t pay much attention when _people started yelling_ and then _tossing_ each other around. She especially loved the cursing.”

            Both skeletons looked like they were trying to hold back a wince with each sentence. By the end, Papyrus was fidgeting with his clothes while Sans started to sweat.

            Frisk idly tucked some hair back from their face, but the motion was too stilted to look casual. “You know, she’d been very complimentary about how well we’d been looking after the kids. I’m sure she’s _very_ proud of us today, what with the cursing and violence.”

            For a moment, Papyrus looked genuinely panicked—this was his job on the line, after all—and Sans looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

            They paused and at last sighed in exasperation. “You two. Look, I know it’s not always easy for you two to get along, but I’m sick of this emotionally constipated posturing you two do where you both act like feuding tom cats. I don’t care if you think the other one hates you because, at this point, you’re just being immature and I’m tired of it.”

            Papyrus froze. “…hate…?”

            Sans’ eyes sockets looked wide in his face.

            Great. Now they’d just alarmed the two. _Oh, what-fucking-ever. I don’t have time for this today._ “Just… Get out. Go… go do something. I got work to do and so does Asriel. Just get out, go to your rooms, _something_. Leave.”

            For a moment, the atmosphere was oppressively thick. And then, surprisingly, it was Sans who retreated first, slipping by Frisk without a word and heading upstairs. Frisk glanced after him and felt something twist in the gut as they looked from his retreating back to Papyrus. Their irritation abruptly mellowed and they felt suddenly small and foolish. Perhaps they deserved the dressing down, but then they went and scared Papyrus by insinuating he’d threatened his own position and spooked Sans by bring up personal things. _Very mature_ , they thought. _I guess the heat’s getting to me too, now._ “Uh. Hey. That was… harsher than necessary. Sorry, Papyrus.”

            They expected him to fuss at them—to snap back defensively or to at least insist that they hadn’t gotten to him at all. Instead, he only stood quietly, clenching and unclenching his fists.

            Frisk frowned. _Uh oh._ Had they really offended or hurt him? Feeling less sheepish and more concerned, they walked over to him, hesitated, but then reached out and gently grabbed one of his fists. He froze at the touch, but still didn’t react. “Hey,” they tried again. “Papyrus? I’m sorry. I was out of line. You okay?”

            He nodded, a sharp, erratic motion and then paused. “Does Sans really think I hate him?”

            Frisk blinked. “…what?”

            He shifted, glancing off to the side. “You said that we think that one hates the other? Does Sans think that?” Alarmed, his head shot up. “ _Does_ Sans hate me?”

            For a moment, Frisk could only stare. Did Sans think that Papyrus hated him? Or that Sans hated him? The answers felt so painfully obvious that they almost asked if he was joking, but then they froze.

            This was Papyrus. Maybe his priorities were different, maybe his aesthetics were different, but more often than not, Papyrus worked in the exact same way that was uniquely “Papyrus”-y as the one from their original’s world. Meaning he could be just as oblivious here as the other Papyrus had been.

            Resisting the urge to smack themselves in the face, Frisk tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. “I don’t think your brother hates you.”           

            Papyrus’ shoulders remained just as tense as before, but he forced himself to nod. “Are you sure?”

            Did he believe them? It was hard to tell; they decided to try the truth. “Oh, honey, I’m sure. It’s just… you two, you always snap at each other and threaten and…  Well. It doesn’t exactly send across the message of peace and love. Do you understand what I mean?”

            Papyrus looked down for a long moment before he looked up at the stairs. “Please, excuse me.”

            Frisk, surprised, stepped aside, but as he started to walk to the stairs, they found their voice. “Papyrus? Where are you going?”

            The skeleton paused only for a moment. “I think my brother and I need to have a talk.” With that, he began to climb the stairs.

            As Papyrus vanished up the stairs, Asriel walked over to their side and tossed his arms around their middle. “What got into him?”

            Frisk frowned and reached down to hug him back. “I dunno. Hopefully something not bad.” They tried to smile for him. “Something good, maybe. Now. Why don’t we get back to work and we’ll take a look at this paper you drew on.”

            He didn’t look convinced as he walked with them over to the table. As they sat down, he looked over his shoulder one last time to the doorway of the kitchen, thought about his bodyguard, and murmured a little wish for him.

 

 

 

 

            Well. This was a great fucking mess.

            Sans knew the moment he did it that he shouldn’t have yelled. And yet, he kept barreling on, and look what that got him. Smacked against the floor, an aching skull, and then Papyrus glaring down at him like he was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen. He hadn’t seen his brother point a glare that ugly in his direction in a long time. While he hadn’t let himself even hope to think that his brother had miraculously stopped thinking he was a fuck up, but he had started to think that his brother didn’t at least think he was a pile of garbage. Worse than garbage, probably—you could recycle or compost some garbage. Nah, whatever he was, Papyrus thought less of him than that.

            Frisk walking in to scold them made a great two punch combo when they reminded him that Toriel had been the one on the line, which meant that both of his friends probably thought he was an idiot. Well, maybe they’d both thought he was an idiot already, but it hadn’t seemed to bother them yet.

            Distantly, he was aware that he was beginning to sound ridiculous—funny, was he having a panic attack?—but he couldn’t find the will to stop himself. Fuck, he should have grabbed a bottle of something from the liquor cabinet before he came up here. If he left now to go get shitfaced, he’d have to deal with a doubly disappointed Frisk. If they told Papyrus then he’d really be up shit creek without a paddle.

            God, he needed a drink. Maybe a cigarette would help. Latching onto the thought, he started to lift his head to search his bedside table for a pack when there was a sharp knock coming from the door behind him. Slowly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder. He’d forgotten to shut the door as he hurried into the room before sitting on the bed; it was a bad habit he was picking from Frisk. It had really come back to bite him in the ass now.

            Papyrus stood just outside the door, arms folded, face dour. When Sans looked at him, the expression only got sterner.

            Welp. Guess he should have gone to Grillby’s and just deal with a disappointed Frisk later.

            Perhaps seeing that his brother wasn’t going to say anything first, Papyrus cleared his throat pointedly. “Sans,” he began, not missing the way his brother flinched. He went on anyway. “A word. Please.” The please was an afterthought.

            _Fuck. Definitely should have gone to Grillby’s. Now I’m going to die sober and with a headache. Hopefully, Frisk and Toriel find something nice to spread the dust on for my funeral._ Fighting the urge to just teleport away, Sans glanced at the floor. Sucking in a breath, he ran a hand over his face before waving his brother in. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” Should he have called him boss? Would that make him happier, or only piss him off now? Fuck, what script was he supposed to be working with here?

            After a moment, he heard footsteps and looked up to see Papyrus walking around the bed to join him on the far side. He thought Papyrus would stop there, but then his brother shocked him by sitting down as well. That was… new. Papyrus usually loved towering over him as he yelled at him.

            Now that he was sitting, it seemed Papyrus needed a moment to gather his thoughts. What was he thinking? What to start yelling about first? At last, he took a breath and seemed to settle on something. “For awhile now, I’ve been thinking about something. I decided not to talk to you about it to not… complicate matters.”

            _Complicate? What the hell does that mean?_ Sans thought, baffled. Was his brother winding up to something? “Uh. Is that so?”

            “Yes, it is,” Papyrus answered, voice clipped. “I had thought things were… agreeable enough. A suitable state. But, honestly, since last year, I’ve been… beginning to think differently.”

            _What the hell is he going on about?_ “Why’s that?”

            Papyrus fidgeted with his gloves while he glanced away. “I… it started when I had a conversation with Mettaton. He asked me about some things, my opinions, and… one of the things he asked about was family.”

            Sans blinked, slowly. “…was this about that mean little shit ghost that he and Frisk are friends with?”

            “Yeah, I think so. Anyway. Some of his questions got me thinking. About our own relationship and if it,” he paused, gesturing jerkily with his hands, as if he was trying to pluck the right words out of the air. “If it could be improved.” He paused again, as if he was waiting for Sans to respond; when he didn’t, Papyrus huffed a little. “At the time, I thought better of trying to change anything. I didn’t want to… dredge up any unfortunate memories about… the past.”

            That, at least, Sans could read between the lines. After all, the Old Man was a taboo topic between the two of them for good reasons.

            The taller brother made a noise like he was clearing his throat. “However, in light of what happened earlier, perhaps it would be best to have that conversation anyway.”

            As soon as the words were in the air, Sans was up as well, electrified by the urge to run away. “Uh, yeah, I’ll tell you what. You sit here, have that conversation. I’ll go, you can pretend I was here, and we’ll all just pretend that it went really well, so-”

            “Brother,” Papyrus bit out, cutting through Sans’ chatter. “Sit, _please.”_

            It was the tone of the ‘please’ that coaxed him to cautiously sit down. Once he did, he forced himself to take a breath. “Okay,” he managed after a moment. “Okay, just… what is it you want to say?”

            “What I want is…” he froze, but then set his jaw and sat up straighter. “I want to tell you I am sorry.”

            For a moment, the two of them sat in absolute silence. Then, Sans’ mind finally seemed to reboot itself and he found his ability to speak again. “I—what?”

            “I’m sorry,” Papyrus said again, voice a little quieter, gentler. “I’ve done, and said, things that I shouldn’t have. As a brother, I haven’t always done… right by you.”

            Oh god. This had to be some sort of strange universe he’d fallen into when he went upstairs. Some bizarre dream he must have had when he got to the bed, although he didn’t remember even laying down. Still, it was all weird and he wasn’t sure he was ready for this. He started to stand again. “Whoa—wait, what? What’re you-? Look, I don’t know wh-”

            “Sans,” Papyrus began, turning to glare at him, to silence him. “I was going to threaten you in the kitchen. I’ve _been_ threatening you for years. And even if you deserve some of it, I… I shouldn’t have done it. Shouldn’t _still_ be doing it. I shouldn’t be tossing you around, or insulting you either.” He sighed. “So, I’m sorry. I lost my temper.”

            Sans stared at him, mind still stuttering as it scrambled to find logic, but he kept getting nothing. At last, his helpless mind just stopped trying and tossed its proverbial arms into the air. “Uh. Do… do you want me to apologize too?”

            Papyrus considered it for a moment. “It’d be a nice gesture, I think.”

            “Oh. Okay. I’m sorry then.”

            Papyrus frowned. “Sans, do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

            _Um._ “Existing?”

            His brother planted his face into his hands for a moment and groaned. “Sans, you are—without a doubt—one of the most infuriating people I’ve ever known. You keep secrets, you like to pretend personal problems don’t exist until all you do is sit around and mope. After what happened with—the Accident—you sat around in your apartment, rotting, until I dragged you out of there to live with me, and then you wouldn’t even get out of your bed unless I physically pulled you out of it. Sans, do you understand how difficult it was seeing my brother, one of the brightest monsters in the Underground, wasting away before me? Do you know how frustrating it is to try to politely get you to do anything when you seemed hell bent on killing yourself slowly?” He paused, sighing. “Screaming, insulting you—those were the only times you ever seemed to show _some_ kind of reaction. I thought it was better than nothing at the time, but… I was wrong.” He glanced up at him, his skull looking oddly resigned. “I shouldn’t have done it. That’s why I’m apologizing.”

            Well.

            Didn’t he feel like a fucking heel now? Sheepish, Sans looked away. Looking back, he could remember a time before their relationship was hostile—once upon a time, they’d been close, but even after that, they’d rarely fought. Things had been awkward and tense, but at the same time, not hateful. Maybe that was because there had been others around, keeping them from getting too worked up, but Papyrus had a point. It wasn’t until after Sans came to live with him that Papyrus really began to crack the whip. In those days, it had taken every iota of strength he had to not just crawl into whatever liquor bottle he could find. He didn’t even have the energy to drink at Grillby’s, just bought himself some mail order bottles, arranging to have them delivered while Papyrus was on duty. The discovery of the bottles had been the start of the yelling, which increased with every mess he left, every time he refused to drag himself out of bed.

            Sans felt his shoulders slumping. “I… I understand why you did it.”

            “Do you?”

            “Yeah,” he sighed. He turned and let himself sit back down, heavily. “I was just… _not_ interested in effort back then. I would have rather…” Rather what? Lay in bed until he slipped away, leaving behind a pile of dust for Papyrus to clean up one morning when he came in to check on him?

            He didn’t really want to think what the honest answer to that question was.

            Instead, he huffed a laugh. “I’ve always been a pain in your ass, but back then I was especially. It’s not really hard to see why you’d hate me.”

            Papyrus froze, his hands clenching until he forced them to relax. “I don’t hate you, Sans.”

            Sans laughed before he could stop himself; once he begun, he tried to clap a hand to his mouth, but his laughter slipped past his fingers. Papyrus was starting to look at him funny, but he just couldn’t stop. He even tried to open his mouth, to hope his voice would at least escape to choke out the guffaws, but nothing. Finally, he simmered down into chuckles and managed to find his voice at last. “Oh, boss. That’s a fucking good one.”

            “Sans,” his brother began, but it wasn’t his usual irritated tone. Instead, the cold, lonely voice cut straight through Sans’ giggles and struck him mute. It was a tone he hadn’t heard out of his brother in sixteen years. “I _don’t hate you.”_ He paused, shifting his shoulders like he wanted badly to get up and pace.

            Sans’ mouth fell open—not a lot, but enough to distort his permanent grin into something less asinine looking. Or at least he assumed so; he tried not to look in mirrors when it happened. His jaw worked helplessly before he finally managed to shut it. “What? Of course you do. I’m a pretty hate-able guy.”

            Papyrus closed his eyes, and for a moment, a phantom of a smile played on his face before vanishing. “You do manage some mindboggling annoyances from time to time. But it doesn’t make me hate you.” He opened his eye sockets again. “I’ve never hated you.”

            “That’s a lie,” he denied on instinct. “I piss you off constantly.”

            “Yes, well, Frisk would be the first to tell you that ‘pissing someone off’ isn’t the same thing as making them hate you.”

            Ugh. He had a good point there. “That’s Frisk though.”

            “Yes, well, while our ambassador does have some very strange ideas, this is one that I can actually agree with them on,” Papyrus quipped dryly before taking a breath. “You are irritating, troubling, and a general pain in my ass. But you’ve been that way for as long as I remember, and I didn’t hate you back then. If I managed to stand you all that time, why would that change?”

            This was like trying to argue with someone that thought the earth was flat; he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so baffled in his life. “But you have to have hated me. I know you hated me after I made you kill Doggo.”

            Papyrus went silent and Sans’ voice vanished as well; neither of them had said that name out loud in years. After a long pause, Papyrus took a deep breath before starting to speak. “You didn’t make me kill Doggo.”

            “You killed him to save my stupid ass. Same difference.”

            “It is _not_ the same. I was—it’s just not. What happened back then was… unfortunate. If I’d been older—if we’d been smarter, we could have avoided all of it.” He sighed. “But that’s not reality. I killed him because all it was all I could do to stop him from killing you. That’s on me, even if it happened because I was just too young to know better. But, even then, I didn’t hate you.” While Sans’ eye socket went wide, Papyrus tugged at his gloves. “To be honest, I assumed _you_ hated _me_ after that.”

            Oh. This was… this had to be too many shocks in a row—this couldn’t be good for his system, could it? If he had a literal, beating heart, it would have stopped already. “What? Why would I…?”

            Papyrus shrugged, his shoulders jerking up as his gaze stayed stubbornly fixed at a spot on the floor near the wall before them.  There was nothing there to stare at, so Sans had no idea what he was focusing on. “After… what happened, you yanked me back home, but you wouldn’t talk to me. You just went and talked to—him. Had him look after me.” His shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t figure out why you wouldn’t say _anything_ to me. You wouldn’t even look at me when we got home. Just ran off and left me there to, to stew. I thought you hated me, that I disgusted you.”

            _Oh. Oh, fuck._ He always knew that his treatment of Papyrus back then while he’d been buried deep in shock would come back one day to haunt him. Or rather, it’d been haunting him the whole time, he’d just never known what specter it was lurking over their relationship. However, hearing Papyrus say it aloud suddenly made it all too real. In a panic, he looked away, gripping his hands to keep them from shaking. “I didn’t hate you. I didn’t… you were just a _kid_ ,” he tried, desperate. “You _saved_ me.”

            “Yes, well, I was still a kid _after_ that as well. You wouldn’t tell me what was wrong and I just started assuming things… Well. After the Barrier fell, I’d thought we’d gotten past this.” He finally glanced back up at Sans. “Apparently not.”

            Was there a word to describe what a shitty person he felt like? Shitty seemed to be a pretty apt description, but even that seemed too benign. “I don’t hate you,” he insisted quickly. “I don’t, I never… fuck, Pap, I never thought that of you.”

            “No? I know for a fact that you think I’m an asshole.”

            Sans winced. That was one term that he’d thrown around a lot, a few times even directly at Papyrus. Hell, he’d even used it during his fight with Frisk, trying to reason with them that every monster was an asshole, including Papyrus. Guilty, Sans scrambled for something to say. “Just because I think you’re an asshole sometimes, it doesn’t mean I—oh.”

            _Oh. Oh, God._ He’d been wrong—so very wrong.

            Papyrus looked at him knowingly. “Just because I piss you off occasionally, you don’t hate me. See, brother? I’m not wrong about these things.”

            Sans looked away, still reeling when he finally chuckled. “I guess you’re right.”

            “I often am.”

            He let his gaze drift upward, gazing out of the sliding glass doors, to the hazy clouds lingering in the hot afternoon sun. “Yeah. You are.” He let his eyes slide shut. “Sorry. For earlier. For yelling at your kids. For not listening to you and calling you an asshole, when I’m one too. I’m… sorry about Doggo, too. I’m sorry for not being a better brother.”

            There was a small pause and then his eyes shot open as he felt the gentle weight of his brother’s hand rest on the top of his head; it was a gesture he’d seen Papyrus do to both of the kids. It was a gesture from their own childhoods—the old man was never one to cuddle, but a few times his hands had come to rest against their crowns, gentle and calming for a few golden moments before it was back to work. It made his chest hurt now, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. “I know. But I have faith that you can do better now,” he pulled his hand back and actually chuckled. “I’ll try harder as well.”

            Still a little stunned, Sans glanced out of the corner of his eyes to his brother. His brother looked caught somewhere between satisfaction and exhaustion, but there was a smile on his face that looked content. It wasn’t a smile he’d often seen in the last decade. Seeing it now, he felt the corners of his own mouth tug of their own volition. “So, um. Dinner any time soon?”

            Papyrus snorted. “We’ll get take out. It’s just too hot to cook.” He stood and started walking to the door. “I’ll ask Frisk and Asriel what they want to eat.”

            He blinked. “Oh. Uh, can I get-?”

            “Yes, brother. I know exactly what it is you want,” he huffed, exiting the room. “It’ll get here soon enough.”

            Sans watched as his brother vanished from sight and then listened as he stomped down the stairs and started talking to Frisk and the kid down in the kitchen. Turning away, he looked at the floor for a long moment.

            His brother didn’t hate him. His brother didn’t resent him. And somewhere down the line, Papyrus had managed to grow up to be a pretty forgiving guy, at least forgiving in the way of this world. Where had he learned that? And why hadn’t he ever noticed? Sans snorted; the old man had liked to think Sans was the smart one of the pair, but Papyrus had really shown him up this time.

            Chuckling to himself, he lifted his head and looked out at the afternoon sky. Distantly, he heard the faint ringing of wind chimes and then the curtains at last rustled. All at once, a breeze came in and for a moment, it washed away the unbearable muggy heat.

            Sans closed his eyes and enjoyed the breath of freshness as it stirred the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title has double meaning this week: I am sorry this is so late--life got in the way, but more than that, this chapter did NOT want to be written. I ended up altering plans because I eventually realized it was stubbornly insisting to go one way. It's also shorter than I wanted, ends kind of abruptly--but I think that's just kind of how these conversations go. There's not really a cute little button I could put on this to really close it. It does, however, lend itself to the fact that I do plan to do more work with the two brothers coming back to good terms. This is just them finally shutting the chapter on bitterness; they'll still annoy each other, but finally they pulled on their big boy pants and cleared the air of some of their worst hang ups.
> 
> The second reference is that this is kind of a direct response to chapter 17, "I'm still waiting for you to come back to me" which was, despite being more focused on Sans trying to make an effort, always felt like Papyrus was saying the title. This time, in the chapter where Papyrus is doing the hard part, it feels like Sans speaking. "Sorry for making you wait" indeed.
> 
> This chapter was a long time coming and a request from KaosRuin over on ff.net.
> 
> Also, an update on how many chapters are left: I have about thirty more planned chapters, perhaps less after I sort through them and decide which to do. Some might be combined into other chapters, if they have similar ideas, mostly to save my own sanity. As it is, I'm officially closing requests for a while (a few months at least) until I catch up on the backlog.
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to mention this, but I've created a timeline/index for any reader who'd like to read this series in chronological order! I've posted it to tumblr for now. I'll be updating it each time I post a new chapter. http://last-haven.tumblr.com/post/168936643884/another-world-timelineindex
> 
> EDIT THE SECOND: If you're reading this (or re-reading this) you might notice that I slightly changed the timeline mentioned by moving one very small point--Asgore coming up with an idea to help monsters--back so that it takes places five months later, instead of two. This is because Undyne and Alphys's baby couldn't even be born in time for it to make sense, so I just pushed it back even further. I can't edit so easily on ff.net, so if you're keeping score, that means this version makes more sense. I don't know if anyone is even paying that close of attention, but eh, I wanted to make a note of it to explain why it's different here than on ff.net.


	34. A Mother's Love

            After Chara fell, no children arrived in the Underground for eighty years. Toriel only got to enjoy her little family of four for a short time, and then she had no family after that for decades. She could still remember the weight of Chara’s slight body in her arms as she carried them from New Home to the Ruins. She buried them there, in the quiet spot that Asriel had first found them. It seemed a fitting place to lay them to rest. Even if she wasn’t any good as a gardener, the seeds of the gold flowers she planted took root and returned year after year, decade after decade.

            She liked to think that the reason the other children survived was because, in some small way, Chara had saved the others with their gift of the patch of flowers.

 

 

 

 

            The first child after Chara to fall was Michael.

            When she first came to the Ruins, she’d stalked around in a fury that boiled her blood nearly around the clock. She hated that Fool, hated his subjects; she sought to clear the Ruins as best she could until only the stupidest remained. Those that sheltered in the decaying city of Home knew to stay well away from her and the rest of the Ruins. But the rage could only carry her so far and after a while, she began to drift through the Ruins like the ghost that occasionally showed up despite her disapproval.  Her home was cold and empty—once upon a time, she and Asgore had lived here together, and the walls had rang with laughter and music. She’d been struck by sentimentality as they’d left for the new castle in New Home, but she felt none of that when she returned and any love she’d felt for it was long burnt out now.

            Michael started to change that though.

            When she first found him, she’d been wandering the halls of the Ruins because constant motion seemed to be the only thing to soothe her mind. She remembered trying to think of what on earth she was going to do with her empty day when she turned a corner. A group of Moldsmals, perhaps the dimmest monsters in the Ruins, were clustered together in the corner, burbling something at each other. Her lips sneered at the sight of them, but they were so dumb she was half tempted to just leave them be.

            That was when she heard the scream. “Leave me alone! I-I’m warning you, if you get any closer I’ll—I’ll-!” a loud, trembling voice cried out and the Moldsmals wiggled around, as if amused by the sound.

            Anger reignited in her core; with a snarl, she summoned a rain of fireballs that sent the idiots scrambling away, back to their hiding holes. Once they cleared out, she saw what they’d been tormenting.

            It was a human boy, perhaps five years old, his shining orange soul glowing before him before it sank back into his chest. He looked like he was wearing a sports uniform, but oddly he wasn’t wearing shoes. His hands, on the other hand, were clad in faded pink gloves and he had tied a silly looking bandana with abs on it around his head. Aside from not having shoes, he looked the picture of a normal, happy, healthy child; however he had come to the mountain, she was willing to bet that falling into had been an accident. Which probably meant that somewhere, out there on the surface, someone who loved him might be worried and searching for him. Her heart ached at the sight of him.

            When he looked at her, his eyes went wide and his knees began to buckle. “S-stay back! I—I know kung fu!”

            She had no idea what that was—maybe a sport? She smiled patiently and held up her hands to show them she meant no harm. To make herself less intimidating, she kneeled down, although she was still quite a bit taller than him. “It’s alright,” she began, her voice gentle. “I won’t harm you.”

            Making herself appear smaller seemed to have soothed his fears some as he lowered his fists, but he still trembled. “Are you like them? Are you a monster too?”

            “I am similar to them, yes,” she answered, sitting back onto her legs so they were folded under her primly. “I am the caretaker of the Ruins. I’m sorry the Moldsmals attacked you. They didn’t really understand you were afraid or that they might hurt you. They’re very dim.”

            “I wasn’t scared,” he insisted, his wide brown eyes shining with unshed tears, betraying him as much as the rest of his body. “I—I could handle myself!”

            She frowned thoughtfully and tutted at the sight of the bruises on his body. “Scared or not, it was rude of them. Here, I have something here that will make you feel better.” She reached into her pocket and drew out a bag of candy she’d made the night before. She cooked mostly to distract herself from the oppressive silence in the house, and last night she’d made half a dozen deserts trying to take her mind off the quiet. She pulled a piece out and held it out to him.

            He looked longingly at it, but stood his ground. “My dad says I shouldn’t take candy from strangers.”

            She smiled and decided to tell a little lie. “This isn’t candy. It’s medicine.”

            His look wasn’t so happy, but he did cautiously approach her. Once he was close enough, he snatched the candy out of her hand and inspected it before popping it into his mouth. Instantly, his bruises vanished and his eyes went wide. “I feel better! But it still tasted like candy.”

            She tried not to chuckle. “Let’s call it medicinal candy then.”

            His face softened for a moment, but they both paused at the sound of rock clattering against stone. It was probably just the Ruins settling again, a tiny chunk giving in to old age and falling down. Still, it alarmed the boy enough that he began to rock back and forth, eyes wide. “They’re—they won’t come back, will they?”

            Gently, she smiled and reached out to pat his hand. “As long as I am here, they won’t. I promise you, my child, they will not touch you.”

            He looked up at her and inside him, something snapped. His chin trembled and tears started spilling down his cheeks; with a sob, he threw himself into her arms.

            She caught him, breath caught in her throat.

            For a moment, he looked just like Asriel.

            Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a breath before she reached down and hugged him back. She softly hushed him as he sobbed into her arm, not caring at all as she felt the front of her robes grow damp with tears and snot. It took him a few long minutes, but finally he calmed down as she rubbed his back and murmured a soft lullaby. Once he was calm, she leaned back and took out a handkerchief to mop up his messy face. “There now,” she said once she had cleaned himself up some. “You were very brave before now, weren’t you? May I ask your name?”

            He paused, chewing on his bottom lip. “My dad _also_ says I shouldn’t tell strangers my name.”

            “That’s true,” she nodded. “In most cases. Right now, however, I don’t think your father planned that you should fall into a mountain with strange monsters in it.”

            He considered this. “I don’t think so either.” He managed a little smile. “It’s Michael.”

            She returned the smile. “My name is Toriel.”

            He suddenly brightened. “Our names end the same!”

            She laughed. “So they do. Now, Michael. Would you like to come with me to my home? We’ll get you cleaned up.”

            As she thought, his joy died swiftly. “I’m _definitely_ not supposed to go to strangers’ homes…”

            “Very true. But you’ll be safer at my home. The other monsters won’t bother you at my home at all.” She paused and added, “I also have pie at my home, if you’d like to try some.”

            “Pie?” he murmured, eyes wide.

            She laughed. “I’ll let you have as much as you want.”

            That settled it; quickly, he grabbed her hand and scurried along at her side. When she got him back to the house, she got him cleaned up and fed. He got tired after and laid down for a nap. As he slumbered, she stood outside his door, listening to his soft snoring and reveling in the sounds of another person in the house after so long.

            The days passed quickly; with a small child around, there was suddenly a great deal to do. She had to go buy more food—food suitable for a human child, since monster food wasn’t enough to sustain a human long term, but also shoes and a coat, and then new books and toys to keep him busy. Michael was a surprising delight, being loud and energetic. He was eager to go bug hunting, to show off his “kung fu” (whatever that was—she assumed it was some sort of dance style), and to help her by taste testing everything.

            For a few precious weeks, Toriel was the happiest she’d been in nearly a century. Every night, she could actually curl up in her bed and _sleep_ , beautiful dreamless sleep, and in the morning, she would help Michael plan his day.

            It sent a sliver of ice into her soul when she first noticed his first stirrings of homesickness. He’d been restless before, but she’d chalked it up to his wild energy. But then he’d trail off and look away in the middle of conversations, stand around and look at nothing.

            Then the questions began.

            “Toriel, what’s on the other side of the door in the basement?”

            “Toriel, what’s at the end of path outside the door?”

            “Toriel, how do I get out of the Underground?”

            “Toriel, when can I go home?”

            The last always smacked at her heart like a hammer. She’d been spoiled with Chara—they had _never_ asked to go home, but once she heard it, all she could think about was Michael’s poor father, who he’d mentioned often. What was that poor man feeling? Was he still searching for his son on the mountain? Or had he gone home, to be alone with his grief? It would a grief she would understand from the depths of her soul.

            It took some time, but she let Michael talk her around to explaining how to leave. She bundled him up in boots and a coat, made him promise to return if he got scared, and reluctantly let him go.

            Surely, after eighty years, Asgore _had_ to have come to his sense. Surely, he’d see this sweet, innocent boy and remember their own son. Within a few days, he’d probably come back to the door, asking to be let back in again. They could be a family then, when he saw that it was just hopeless. He would call her mother, like he’d asked to do just before he left.

            She waved to him as he disappeared out the door. Reluctantly, she turned and went back upstairs.

            Michael would never make it to Snowdin. He would be captured and taken to Asgore.

            A week later, Toriel would hear rumors of the Overlord’s new human soul.

            The Ruins choked on the smoke and dust that began to pour out of them after that.

 

 

 

 

            The next child to fall was almost too old to really be called a child, five years after Michael did. Laura was eleven when she fell, older than Chara by four whole years. It showed too—when Toriel found her, half collapsed in the Ruins and bloody from her many wounds, her toe shoes were already coated with dust.

            When she saw Toriel, her tired brown eyes grew wide in her face. “Stay away!” she shouted, trying to straighten, but her leg wanted to buckle beneath her.

            “Child, you’re hurt,” Toriel murmured, wincing at the tender way the girl held her wrist—there was something definitely wrong with it, more so than her leg. “Please, allow me to heal you.”

            She tried to take a step back, but her leg gave up and sent her tumbling. As she landed, she smacked her wrist off the stones and screamed in agony.

            Toriel was by her side in an instant. Her healing magic must have been getting rusty, since it didn’t immediately come to her call, but the sight of the hurt child made the magic thrum in her veins as she cast a gentle green light over the child. Once her magic drifted over the child, the girl pained whimpers stopped. Taking her hands back, she found the little ballerina blinking up at her, but still holding her wrist.

            “You—you made the pain stop,” she murmured, gaping still.

            “I tried what I could,” she replied carefully before nodding to the wrist. “Does your wrist still hurt? Will you let me see it?”

            The girl eyed her for a long moment before finally offering her wrist.

            Toriel was as gentle as she could be as she examined the limb—the healing had barely laid a dent in the swelling and it was an angry red color. She could try to heal the appendage again, but it was more likely that the girl had broken it as she fell into the mountain and now it would need repeated healings and time to mend.

            She explained as much to the girl before offering to escort her to her home to rest.

            The girl judged her silently for an achingly long minute before she finally nodded. “You did heal me. That’s more than I can say for the other creatures. What _is_ this place anyway?”

            “This is the Ruins, an area in the Underground. When you fell into the mountain, you ended up here,” she explained as she helped Laura to her feet. As she finished, she pressed one of her hands to her chest. “I am Toriel, the caretaker of the Ruins. I’m sorry you were attacked. I’ve been trying to keep the riffraff out, but they are stubbornly persistent, I’m afraid.”

            “They’re menaces to society,” she muttered.

            “Come,” Toriel said, pressing a comforting hand to the girl’s back. “You’ll be safe at my home.”

            After a moment, the girl spoke again. “My name is Laura.”

            “Laura,” she began, “it is lovely to meet you.”

            It would take weeks before Laura’s wrist entirely mended, the healing being strenuous, delicate work as the bones wanted to heal in bad ways. As Laura recovered in her home, Toriel found herself quickly growing fond of the human girl. She was tenacious and driven, whip smart, and confident in herself, her actions, and her skills. She was not a creature of humility, but she wasn’t an arrogant boor either. She was eager to learn anything Toriel would tell her—how to navigate the Ruins, how to protect herself, and she also devoured the contents of Toriel’s books.

            Toriel never _really_ had chance to convince her to stay, and she knew it. She knew it by the end of the first week.

            “I have to get home soon,” Laura said, not scared, not sad. Determined, her jaw set. “I need to get home. As fast as I can manage.”

            “Why _not_ stay here?” Toriel tried; after all, Laura was older than Michael, old enough to reason with. “Why not stay here, where I can keep you safe? We could be very happy here.”

            For a moment, Laura’s face softened and she looked genuinely sympathetic, but only that. “I have to go back,” she replied, gently. “My brother needs me.”

            “Your brother?”

            “Mmm,” she murmured with a nod. “Our parents—they don’t understand him. They don’t treat him right. So I gotta go back.” She paused, her eyes soft. “It’s a shame he wasn’t here now. If he were…” The soft look vanished and her jaw tightened again. “He’d be happier here.”

            That touched Toriel’s core, deep in her heart. She knew then that Laura was not for keeping. Still, they spent at least one afternoon, tossing around the idea of what life might have been like had her brother been there to join them. They would have made a cozy little family.

            That was the idea in Toriel’s mind as she announced Laura’s wrist fully healed, as she helped Laura pack up and arm herself, as she escorted Laura to the basement door.

            “You’ll have to kill Asgore to leave the Underground,” Toriel reminded her.

            Laura nodded; she already had LV to her stats. What was a little more to return to her brother? “Absorb the soul. Escape as soon as I can afterward.”

            “You won’t have long to get it. Even a Boss Monster’s soul will shatter quickly after their death,” she looked her young friend in the eye as they paused by the exit’s door. “Don’t let the opportunity pass you by.”

            She nodded again. “I promise, I won’t fail.”

            Letting the grim subject go, Toriel smiled softly and pressed a steady hand to Laura’s shoulder. “Please, take care of yourself, my child. It is a long walk to Asgore’s castle, and you’ll have to fight your way there. Do not give up, do not falter, and you’ll see your brother soon.”

            Something flashed behind Laura’s eyes and she looked as determined as ever. “I’m ready.”

            “I know,” Toriel tried not to sigh and turned to face the door. “Remember. Stay to the path. It will lead you straight to the castle.” She glanced down at her with a smile. “Good luck, little one.”

            “Thank you, Toriel. For everything.” With that, she started to walk forward. She reached for the door, but instead of pushing on it, she paused and looked back. Before Toriel could ask what was wrong, she ran back and tossed her arms around Toriel’s middle. Despite her steady face, Toriel could feel the girl’s arms shaking as she hugged her. “I haven’t known you long, but you should know.” She paused and looked up into Toriel’s face. “But you’re probably the best mother I’ve ever had the honor to know.”

            Toriel hugged her back and chewed on her lips to keep from begging the child to reconsider and stay.

            All too soon, Laura pulled away. With one last stead nod, she turned and exited the Ruins. Toriel watched her go and said a prayer for her.

            Laura would make it to Waterfall, leaving a trail of dust behind her. Her toe shoes and will struck down many a fool until Gerson himself struck her down, sending her unconscious body on to Asgore.

            She’d only lasted the day.

 

 

 

 

            Dickon fell three years after Laura did. He’d only been trying to look at an interesting fossil when the ground gave out under him and sent him falling into the Underground. At least that’s what he told after she found him cowering and sobbing in tight little crevice between rocks. It took ages to coax him out. When he finally did crawl out, he trembled at the sight of her until she finally calmed him down and let her scoop him up into her arms. He was eight years old, but he was a small eight—smaller even than Chara. Holding him, he reminded her a lot of Asriel and Chara alike.

            “I broke my glasses,” he moaned as she carried him through the puzzles.

            In a fit of fury, she melted the ground under one of the stubborn rocks her kept giving her trouble by not staying still. She ignored its furious shouts and carried on. “I’ll take a look at them when I get you to my home. Perhaps it’s not as bad as you think.”

            When she got him home, got him cleaned up and mended, his tears vanished and he started to pay attention to everything going on around him. She found him full of questions—what exactly was she, what were the other creatures in the Ruins, where was he, how did magic work, could a human learn magic—until she found him falling half asleep into his piece of pie. He got up bright and early the next morning, but she found him a little quieter then.

            “I thought,” he began before biting his lip. “I thought I was going to wake up back in the hotel with my parents. Well. Wake up back in the hotel at least.”

            “The hotel?” she repeated, frowning. “Do you not live near the mountain?”

            He shook his head. “Father is a very busy businessman,” he said, like he was reciting something he’d heard often enough to be engrained in his memory. “So mother and I have to move around with him a lot. We came to Ebott just to stay for a few weeks.”

            “Dickon,” she tried, voice gentle, “does anyone know that you came to the mountain at all?”

            Dickon shrugged. “I needed to be out of the way for a few hours.” He said it like it would explain everything.

            In a way, it sort of did. She made him the fluffiest pancakes she could, thick with honey and chocolate. He was all smiles for a while after that.

            Time passed quickly. Unlike Laura or Michael, Dickon was more curious about everything in the Ruins than what lay on the other side of the door once she explained it was strictly off limits. Instead, he read every book in her house, asked her never ending questions, and listened intently to every answer. When she took him out to go bug hunting, he took a notebook with him. He drew incredibly accurate drawings of the bugs she collected, of the plants around them, noting whatever detail he could think of as they hunted. He did that for everything else as well until he had half the notebook full.

            Looking at it, Toriel smiled softly and wondered if Chara would have had fun with Dickon, her two little artists.

            He stayed with her three months, almost to the day. She walked in to find his bed empty, save for a single note, written on a page torn out of his notebook. Just a tiny scrap of paper, since he hoarded every inch of useable space that he could.

            _Toriel,_

_I know you don’t like it when I go down there, but I just wanted to see what’s in the basement. I don’t expect to find much, but I’ll be back up for breakfast, I’m sure._

_\--Dickon_

His bed was cold, but she had no idea if that’s a good sign or not. As she ran down the basement steps, she prayed, but at the end of the passage, the great doors stood open.

            She hesitated only for a moment—she had not exited the Ruins in nearly ninety years—but then she plunged into the snowy woods. She didn’t have to go far past the oddly empty and dusty sentry post—someone must have died and hadn’t been replaced yet—before she spotted a monster. An Ice Cap hurried through the woods but drew up short as she appeared. Ice Cap, never a particularly clever monster, hesitated for long enough that she was the one to make the decision.

            She stomped up to it and then quickly shredded the wave of bullets it tried to send at her with a wave of her own. As it gawked up at her, she growled. “Ice Cap, listen and listen well. Has there been any reports of something or someone unusual appearing today?”

            It tried to look menacing with its jagged, spiky hat, but only managed looking as vain as usual. “Besides you, lady?” When she failed to look impressed, it hunkered down, grumbling that she didn’t even look at its hat. “Well, yeah, of course.” For a moment, it forgot its fear of her and brightened. “A human’s appeared! It showed up about an hour ago. The sentries are trying to chase it through to Waterfall. Undyne will capture it in no time and then-”

            With a terrible cry, she blasted him with a fireball so hot, it was instantly vaporized. She fell to her knees, trying not to howl her despair as her brain tried desperately to think. Her child was in danger—poor, sweet Dickon, who loved pancakes and learning, who always seemed surprised and delighted whenever she paid him the littlest bit of attention. There was nothing for it. For him, she’d burn all of Snowdin and Waterfall down before she let them take him.

            And yet, even as she rose, she heard the echoing cheers coming out of Snowdin. She felt her heart plummet and her soul trembled as she listened to the joy in those shouts.

            Too late. _(And isn’t that how it always goes?)_

            For a moment, all she could do was shake her head. Then the grief was too much, pushing at her lungs and throat until she opened her mouth and howled like a dying creature. Turning, she staggered back to the Ruins.

            The doors were carefully locked from that day on.

 

 

 

 

            The next child fell five years after that. She heard the sounds of fighting and yelling long before she stumbled across the scene. Piles of dust lay scattered on the ground; one stubborn Froggit still charged at the child, but it shattered into dust as well when a loud gunshot cracked through the air.

            Toriel blinked at the child—a reedy, thin body in baggy clothes made it hard to guess the sex, as was the dark hair stuffed up in the cowboy hat. The child was almost as old as Laura and at the thought Toriel couldn’t help but wonder if it was old age or the many years since she’d seen a variety of humans, or if there was something of a resemblance between this child and Laura.

            She didn’t have time to wonder long; soon the child noticed her staring and raised the gun at her as well.

            “You! Tall one! You listen to me and then talk, you got it? Eight years ago, a girl came to this mountain,” the child shouted, eyeing down the sights of the gun. “My height and age, pretty, and a dancer.”

            Toriel blinked, surprised. “You mean Laura.”

            The child’s eyes widened and for a moment, their mouth fell open. Then they gritted their teeth and raised the gun again, this time shaking as they pointed it at her. “Did you kill her? Did you kill Laura?!”

            Stomach twisting, she ignored the gun and took a step forward. “Are you Laura’s-?” She paused, frowning. “But no, Laura said she had a brother, not a sister…”

            The child jerked again, jerking the gun away from Toriel all together to point at the ceiling. After a moment of mutual staring, the child finally spoke. “You… you talked to my sister?”

            Toriel tried to smile, but it was a meager thing at best. “I did. Eight years ago, she passed through here. She’d gotten hurt, so she spent some time at my home, mending, before she decided to press on.” She paused again, shrugging helplessly. “I asked her if she’d like to stay with me, but she insisted that she had to get back home. She said her brother needed her.”

            What little fight there’d been in the child’s eyes died at that. Lowering the gun, he chewed on his lip. “Sorry… for pointing the gun at you. If I’d known you were a friend of Laura’s, I’d never…” he swallowed hard and gazed up at her with naked hope. “Is she somewhere around here? She, she never made it home.”

            Her smile faded, but she tried another one to soften the blow. “Laura only stayed with me a few weeks. Then she left to try to get through the rest of the Underground, to return home.” She looked away. “I’m sorry, my child. I’m afraid she… encountered enemies that she could not defeat.”

            He looked sick. “Is she gone?”

            Closing her eyes, she nodded.

            He glanced away as well, mouth twisting before sighing bitterly. “I’d thought as much. Laura…” He sniffed. “Laura never left behind me if she could help it.”

            Gazing at him, she felt a familiar ache in her chest. She took a few more steps closer, startling him, but then she knelt and pressed a hand to his shoulder. “She thought of you every moment. She loved you very, very much.”

            His eyes watered, but he refused to let the tears fall. He let himself scrub at his cheek once before he raised his head. “Do you know who killed her? Do you know which bastard did it?”

            Tightening her jaw, she nodded. “Yes. I do.” She stood and took a step back. “Come with me, back to my home. I’ll explain to you everything I can. Also,” she added, “the exit of the Ruins is in my home. You’ll have to pass through it anyways.”

            Reluctantly, the child nodded and they began the walk the halls. As they went, they were mostly silent except for one exchange.

            “My name is Toriel,” she said as she led him through the weak floor trap.

            “Do you live here?” he asked as he sidled up against the wall, like her.

            “I’m the caretaker of the Ruins.”

            “I see,” he murmured. As she led him to the end of the trap, he spoke up. “My name’s-” he paused and then straightened. “My name is Jacob.”

            She smiled at him; when he tightened his jaw, he could see Laura all over his face. “Jacob is a wonderful name.”

            For a moment, he smiled back and he didn’t look like a vengeful boy out to right the terrible murder of his sister. Toriel wished she could protect that smile, but she knew if he was anything like Laura, there would be no stopping him. Laura deserved justice, after all.

            Once they arrived, she sat him down with a piece of pie and explained all that she could. The pie was only half finished when she finished, but he was already standing, gaze firm. She wrapped up the pie for him, got him a warm coat in his size, and then escorted him down the stairs.

            There was so little left to say by the time they were in front of the door, so Toriel could only pause to unlock the door. Once it was open, she turned to him again and wondered for a moment as she had years before, what it would have been like if Laura had stayed, or if she had at least returned. If the years would have gone by only for Jacob to arrive then, what then? Would they have all lived here, together in the Ruins? She could have taught them so many things. They could have sat by the fire and told each other stories, the two siblings catching up after a long time apart. Perhaps if Laura had stayed, she would have stopped Dickon from leaving. Maybe it could have been a cozy family of four.

            But Laura and Dickon were both gone, as was Michael. As was Chara and Asriel.

            Maybe it could have been a lovely home, but it was all gone. Stolen not just by fate but by the cruel hands of the monsters, by the husband she once loved.

            Her children deserved justice. Maybe Jacob would be the one to bring it to this ugly world.

            “Remember,” she warned him, reaching down and zipping up his coat, “there are sentries outside the door and all the way through the Underground. Don’t let them catch you. Keep going until you reach New Home and the Castle. And when you get there, don’t let anything stop you until Asgore falls.”

            He nodded. “I understand.”

            For a moment, her gaze softened—he was so _young_. Could he do this? Should she let him carry this burden?

            No. But she couldn’t keep him from his vengeance either. “Go, avenge your sister.”

            He straightened. “I will,” he swore and it was like looking into Laura’s eyes again. He lifted his hand to her. “Thank you for everything, Toriel. For the pie, for the info, for… For Laura. Thank you.”

            She squeezed his hand before letting go. “Good luck, my child.”

            With one last nod, she opened the doors.

            In the end, Undyne struck him down before he got far from Waterfall.

            After that, Toriel swore to never allow another child through the door.

 

 

 

 

            One year later, she found Elijah sobbing as he tried to climb the walls of Chara’s burial chamber. She stared for a moment in honest confusion as he prayed to whatever god he hoped would listen while he tried to pull himself up. He didn’t get far, however, and the magic of the Barrier knocked him back down. She dropped the watering can she’d been carrying and leapt across the room, her heart in her throat as he screamed and fell. She caught him just before he hit the ground.

            He was stunned into momentary silence as he looked up at her in shock.

            She was a little startled herself, but she tried to smile kindly as she sat him down on his feet. “There you are. Human, are you hurt?” She looked him over and noticed he was favoring his left leg. “You are hurt! Here, let me heal you.”

            He was still staring as she healed his leg and then sat back.

            Poor thing. She must have startled him badly. “Is that better, child?”

            Slowly, like he was only hearing her after a long delay, he nodded. However, when he opened his mouth, she got a reply she hadn’t quite expected. “Are you an alien?”

            She had to chuckle at that. “No, dear,” she replied gently.

            He blinked, considering her. “Are you a… monster?”

            She nodded. “Yes. But don’t worry. I would never harm a child, especially not a human.”

            He sagged in relief. “Oh, good!” He paused, his dark cheeks flushing darker. “Um! That is good, right?”

            She chuckled again. “Yes, my child. Why do we not introduce ourselves?”

            He smiled, a sweet, shy smile as he held out his hand. “I’m Elijah. Nice to meet you.”

            “Charmed,” she said, shaking his hand carefully while her hand engulfed his own. “My name is Toriel. I’m the caretaker of the Ruins.”

            He cocked his head to the side. “The Ruins?”

            “Yes,” she answered, a little surprised again. “That is where we are now. Have you not seen outside this room?”

            He rubbed his nose, ducking his head. “I, um, did, for a minute. Then I thought I saw something, so I came back in here. I was trying to climb back out when you, um, caught me.”

            A chill stabbed her heart. _Not even here a few minutes and he’s already trying to escape,_ she thought as a bubble of hysteria ballooned in her chest. She forced it back down after a minute and tried to smile. No, she had already promised herself. She wasn’t going to let that tragedy happen again—this time, she would protect this child.

            “I’m afraid you can’t climb out of the mountain from here,” she tried kindly as she stood. “There’s a barrier surrounding the entire Underground.”

            “Oh,” he murmured, glancing up at the hole in the ceiling far above them. That damn hole—it was a shame she couldn’t find a way to plug it up. “Is… is that why there’s legends about how no one comes back from the mountain? Because there’s magic on it?”

            “Correct.” He was a clever one, this one. “Why don’t you come with me? You’ll be safe and comfortable at my home.”

            Instead of answering, he looked back at her. “But, how do you get in and out of the mountain? Don’t you need—I dunno, supplies? And stuff?”

            “Lots of things fall into the mountain,” she answered stiffly, chest tight. “Nothing can leave. There is no exit.”

            For a moment, he fell completely silent. Finally, he managed a small “oh.”

            Face softening, she reached out and placed a bracing hand against his shoulder. “Come with me, my child. Nothing will harm you if you are with me.”

            She took him home, got him cleaned and settled. He was curious about her and her home. At first slightly wary, but once he was sure he was safe, he took to her fast. He was happy to sit with her and learn snail facts, to set the table for supper, and to read her books.

            Only two days after he came, she caught him staring at her from the corner of her eye as he peeked into the kitchen. She assumed he thought watching her cook; cooking with fire magic must have been a little thrilling—it certainly seemed to fascinate all the other children—and she invited him in to watch.

            He did so, openly gawking as she stir fried some vegetables for him—vegetables grew in certain parts of the Underground with relative ease and were easier to get instead of trying to capture some of the birds that had gotten trapped in the Barrier. When she put some vegetables on the plate for him, he still gaped at the food.

            He came to watch her cook again and again—unlike the other children, watching her cook with fire never lost its charm. But then she noticed that it wasn’t only cooking with fire magic he liked—he loved watching her bake, roll out dough, season a bird she caught, and even decorate a cake.

            “Would you like to help me make dinner tonight?” she finally asked, deciding to test her theory out.

            He looked doubtful and hopeful all at once. Finally, he spoke. “I’d like to… but I’m really not supposed to…”

            She blinked at him. “Why ever not?”

            He glanced away, and for a moment, she remembered that although Elijah was sweet and gentle, he was not always entirely truthful. But strangely, it wasn’t that he lied to cover up a mistake or misdeed, but like he was trying to cover for someone else. She’d only learned he’d come to the mountain because someone had chased him up it—he’d said it had been bullies, but even now she thought he was trying to hide some other ugly truth. Finally, he shrugged and tried to smile. “Well, it’s just—granddad always says I shouldn’t be messing around in the kitchen, cause I’m just a boy and I’ll get under mama’s foot. Stuff like that, you know?”

            Admittedly, it didn’t take a lot to get her angry nowadays, but she tried hard not to show that around children. Right now, her body practically vibrated with her rage, but she forced herself to be satisfied with a tight lipped smile. “Well,” she managed, “your grandfather isn’t here now, right?”

            “Um, no?”

            “And it’s my kitchen, so I think I know it well enough to know if you’re underfoot or not. Which I’m certain you would not be! So, how about it? Would you like to learn how to cook?”

            He stared up at her, hope slowly replacing doubt until he finally smiled widely. “If you say it’s okay, then yeah. Yeah! I’d love to.”

            She started him on simple things, but he quickly grew more ambitious. By the end of the week, he’d learned six new recipes and was eagerly flipping through her cookbooks for new things.

            The months passed quickly that way, with the two of them constantly cooking, teaching and learning, talking and laughing, and for a while, the house was a warm, comfortable place again.

            Then came the little signs; she would notice him looking thoughtful, and when she asked him what he was thinking about, it was usually something to the effect of “I wish I could show this to mama” or “I wish I could tell my friends back home about that”. Whenever he spoke that way, a bubble of panic would choke her and she would hurry to distract him. She grew desperate; she taught him as many recipes as she could think of, told him about as many interesting things she could think of, and when that failed, she kept him physically busy with chores.

            He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was good at sweeping, so she often let him sweep the floors. And then one day she noticed he had swept the basement clean as well. When she’d asked him, every nerve in her body tense as tripwire, why he’d cleaned down there, he’d looked perfectly innocent when he told her it was only because he’d seen how dusty the floors were down there.

            She let his answer satisfy her.

            She really shouldn’t have. With the floors being so clean, she never saw how many footprints led up to the exit.

            One morning, she awoke to find her keys and one of her small frying pans missing and a note in his bed.

            _I’m sorry, Toriel, but I gotta go home. Everyone must be worried sick about me. I won’t forget you. I’m really sorry._

It’s for the best she never learned of the cruel fate that waited for him in Temmie Village before he was taken to Asgore. All the same, rather than lock the door with a simple lock, she used a seal to keep the door shut. Now no one could pass without her permission.

            “No more dead children,” she whispered as the seal’s magic dimmed and vanished into the door. “Not ever.”

 

 

 

 

            It took two more years before the sixth child fell. The Ruins stood mostly empty and silent, safe for a few stupid Froggits and Whimsums that just couldn’t get it through their heads that they were absolutely not welcome there. The Ruins grew quieter the closer you got to Chara’s grave, which is how she preferred it—she didn’t want their rest disturbed after all. Today, however, the closer she got, the more a faintly familiar whine grew louder. When she finally got close enough to recognize it, she dropped her gardening tools she’d been using to take care of the flowers and ran as fast as she could.

            There, lying in the middle of the flowers, a tiny figure sat with their tiny fists pressed against their eyes and wailed loudly as their little lungs would allow. It was a tiny little human, just barely past toddler aged. Three, _maybe_ four? She wasn’t sure, but as she scooped the child up out of the flower patch, the child’s startled cries paused and then broke into the most hysterical shrieks Toriel had ever heard. At first, she thought she had frightened the child when they’d seen her face, but as she tried to move her hands to better hold the child, the child’s left leg moved in a distinctly _unnatural_ way and the howls reached a fevered pitch.

            Muttered a startled curse, she quickly drew what healing magic she could to her fingers—it was getting so much harder now, to find the power to heal, when once upon a time she’d been fantastic at it. Still, under the green glow of the healing magic, the leg started to stitch itself back together.

            The child grew quieter, watching her with wide eyes as she mended the leg.

            The child, still nearly just a babe, was far too young to just casually be out on the mountain. Either someone had let their child wander off, or someone had purposefully abandoned the little one. Either way, her heart ached for the child.

            At last, she had to quit trying to heal—the magic just wouldn’t come as she willed. At least she still had some powerful healing items back at her home. She tried to smile kindly as she could to the small child.

            “Why don’t you come with me and we’ll get you all fixed up,” she said to the child.

            “Booboo,” the child cooed back. “Better.”

            “Booboo better?” she repeated as she carried the child from the grave. “Booboo doesn’t hurt anymore?”

            The child shook their head. The wide brown eyes stared up at her, so trusting. “Moo moo?”

            Toriel smiled tightly. “No, dear. I’m not a cow. No moo moo.”

            The child paused for a long moment before trying again. “Baaah?”

            She had to laugh at that. “Well, maybe a _little_ goat like. Do you like animals, little one?”

            “Kitties,” she answered with a nod. “Puppies. Woof!”

            “That’s right, puppies bark.” She shifted the child in her arms, careful not to jostle the hurt leg. “Tell me, my child, what’s your name? I’m Toriel.”

            “Mmm,” the child hummed thoughtfully and reached up try to grab Toriel’s ear.

            Toriel expertly dodged the grabby hands, flipping her ears out of the way each time. She smiled—Asriel had done much of the same when he’d been little. Hell, he used to reach up, grab handfuls of Asgore’s beard and yank the hair straight out so that she kept finding her son with fistfuls of Asgore’s hair.

            The memory made her grimace. “Little one, my name’s Toriel. Can you tell me _your_ name?”

            The child paused. “Rie.”

            Was the child trying to say her name, or was Rie their name? Well, it was as good as any other name, she guessed. “Rie? Is that your name?”

            The child giggled; Toriel decided to assume it was for the simple pleasure of hearing their name called.

            _Such a young child,_ she thought as she carried her home. Unlike the other children, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the child would die instantly without her. No, she could never allow this child out of her sight; she would protect them for all the years she could, until they grew old and bent. And Asgore would never have their soul.

            _I promise you that, little one,_ she thought.

            It was a vow she would keep for two years. For two years, Rie was Toriel’s delight, following her and helping her as best she could. She—she very quickly began to assert that she was a girl—loved clutching Toriel’s robes as the monster went about her day. She wasted no chance to crawl up into Toriel’s lap and nap there. She would sit, quiet and patient, as Toriel taught her first how to read and then her sums, and from there everything she thought a small child should know. She was quick to play pranks, to giggle at everything.

            With her around, Toriel felt the first stirrings of hope—hope for a peaceful, contented future. She felt calmer than she’d felt in years. She’d even stopped dusting every monster that crossed her path, although she did try to keep them out of the Ruins.

            Too bad she should have focused on keeping them out of the ruins of Home as well.

            One day, as she cleaning in the house, she left Rie to play by herself in the courtyard outside their home. She’d only thought to let the energetic five year old entertain herself in the yard for a few minutes before they would leave to go on a bug hunt. But there was something wrong with the vacuum cleaner; she had the thing half tore apart, screwdriver in hand, when the screaming started.

            She dropped her tools in a second and raced for the front door. Even as she got outside though, she could hear Rie’s screams fading in the direction of Home. She raced to catch up, but she lost them in the maze of Home’s mostly abandoned buildings—she nearly burnt half of the ruined city down before she gave up.

            After all, there was only really one place they would be heading. To that fool.

            Leaving the ruins to burn, she raced back to her home, pausing to catch her breath as she reached for the door. She pressed her hands against the door while gasping.

            She couldn’t find the strength to push them open.

            _What if I’m already too late?_ She thought, paralyzed for a moment. _What if this is just like Dickon all over again? They could be halfway to New Home and I’ll never catch up-_

            The door _moved._

            She blinked, shocked, but then she heard the faint sound of someone sighing on the other side. Someone was at the door? They weren’t trying to get in, or at least they weren’t trying very hard. If anything, they were leaning against it.

            Someone on the other side, someone close enough to hear her through the door. Someone who might know where her child was.

            She shouted. “Is someone out there?” After a long moment of silence, she banged on the door with her fists, annoyed that whoever it was there was ignoring her.

            There was a loud crack and then a grumbled curse.

            Gritting her teeth, she shouted again. “I SAID, IS ANYONE THERE?”

            A voice, young and hoarse, finally called back _. “Yeah, yeah, for fuck sakes, someone’s out here! Christ, trying to crack my head open?”_

            In spite of herself, relief sideswiped her. Why? She didn’t know—and yet, she was glad there was someone, anyone, with her for a moment. It passed quickly and fear gripped her so intensely in her moment of weakness that tears spilled down her cheeks, thickening her voice. “Listen, please, I need to know something!”

            Silence for a long, unbearable moment _. “Okay, fine! What is it you want, lady?”_

            “Does that idiot—does Asgore have a new human soul?”

_“What?”_

            “You heard me—does that stupid king have another human soul now?”

            _“Jesus, lady, are you trying to get us both in trouble? If someone heard you talking like that about the Overlord…”_

            “Answer me!” she shrieked, pounding on the door.

            _“God, fine! I’ll tell you what I heard, if it shuts you up,”_ the voice sighed. _“Yeah, apparently he does.”_

            Her world cracked as her breathing stopped.

            The voice on the other side went on. _“There’s some rumors going around. Some monsters came through Snowdin a bit ago. They said they found a kid in there—in the Ruins. They took them to the Overlord’s Enforcers. Undyne’s probably got the kid in the throne room already.”_

            She clapped her hands over her ears and screamed, trying to drive the voice out of her head. Howling, sobbing, she turned and raced from the door. She could still hear Rie, screaming for her—calling her mama, like she always did.

            She failed. Another child, murdered,

            And it was all

            Her

            Fault.

 

 

 

 

            There was one more child, a child that Toriel forgot. She lost track of how much time had passed since Rie was taken, but one day she found a child half hidden behind a mound of debris that had appeared outside Chara’s burial chamber. She’d left the debris in place for then, thinking that at least it’d keep the other monsters out of their resting place. But she had to water the flowers sooner or later.

            When she got to the pile of debris, she could heard voices—young voices, one of which as that damn weed that kept appearing in the Ruins no matter how many times she tried to get rid of it.

            (And she cannot remember this either, but many times she _did_ get rid of the flower.)

            She blasted the pile out of her way, but there, on the other side, a child she cannot remember laid sprawled up on the ground, gawking up at her. The child was the oldest child to fall, but not the most reluctant to accept her aid. She helped the child up and escorted them to her home.

            She cannot remember that though.

            She cannot remember the very brief time she and that child spent together before the child asked how to escape the Ruins. Had she not been kind? Had she not been generous? Why did that child flinch from her, when she offered her hand—even if her claws were extended?

            She cannot remember the child. But she did remember her vow—no more dead children. No more souls for Asgore. She would never let another child leave.

            The first time the child fell, it was after she decided to destroy the exit. The second time was when she caught them sneaking downstairs, that weed in their arms. The child would get cleverer; they would try to sneak down there at night, when she was baking, when her back was turned. They would try to reason with her, try to plead with her, try to run past her. But the doors were locked and would only open with her blessing.

            The child fell so many times.

            Until one time, she could no longer find it in her to resist. Couldn’t find it in herself to murder the child again. She opened the door and prayed that this would be the last child.

            And in a way, her prayers came true. They were the last child to fall.

            She cannot remember that though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late and it's entirely because of bad planning and poor time management skills on my part. I'm sorry about that.
> 
> That out of the way, this was a suggestion from SliceOSunshine. The identities to the other children's souls was something I was kicking around for a long time, and I finally decided to do something with it. 
> 
> And now, some facts that I couldn't go into in this chapter! Interestingly, I kinda switched Dickon and Jacob's identities around a little--in an earlier chapter, Undyne definitely recognizes Jacob as a boy, but she was unsure of Dickon's gender. Whoops. At any rate, Jacob is a trans boy, if you were confused what I was getting at with him. Laura was very protective of him because their parents wouldn't recognize him as such, which is why he was so attached to her. Dickon's parents neglected him in favor of his father's work, which is why he wandered off in the first place. Elijah was chased up the mountain by bullies--except, he let Toriel think it was just other children. In truth, it was his own father who terrified him into going up the mountain. His father and grandfather didn't like how he was into "girly" things, like cooking. Rie wasn't actually her name, and she wasn't abandoned--she wandered off while her family was busy hiking and fell in on accident. Michael's mother is dead, which is why he asked Toriel if he could call her his mother.


	35. There was once a man...

            The shock happened at supper on a Tuesday; Frisk remembered that clearly because they always thought Tuesday to be the worst day of the week. Monday? They were still riding high off the weekend. Wednesday was at least the middle of the week. Tuesday though? By then the energy they had from the weekend was completely burnt out and they still had the rest of the week to get through.

            So, really, it was an appropriate time for life to go to shit.

            One moment, the four of them were talking over supper—well, five, but Asriel didn’t mention if Chara had anything to add to the conversation. It was a particularly nice dinner because Asriel talked Papyrus into letting him help cook the meal—a simple casserole dish, only a little burnt on one side, and even then they ate from that side too. The topic turned to meals they had all had as children. Frisk waxed wistfully over their grandfather’s perfect grilled paninis, Asriel even hesitantly mentioned his mother’s pies, and then Papyrus snorted.

            “Well, at least you have some nice memories of childhood meals,” he muttered, putting another forkful into his mouth. “All I got to have was Sans’ terrible cooking to live on.”

            Instead of annoyance or amusement, Frisk was surprised to see pensiveness on Sans’ face. He prodded at his casserole with his fork. “Do you remember when he used to give us potato chips and then be surprised when we got hungry again like half an hour later?”

            Frisk blinked; the words rang funny in their ears, like Sans had spoken into a long tunnel. But he hadn’t done anything in particular to make it sound that way, not even cupping a hand over his mouth.

            Papyrus didn’t seem to notice. He shook his head. “Yes. The two of you were both hopeless.”

            Frisk cocked their head to the side—Papyrus’ voice also had the same strange quality to it now. It wasn’t the first time they’d heard the brothers use the strange tone, but those moments had always been quiet, private moments, so they’d never tried to intrude. Now, however, they were using it right at the dinner table. What better chance to ask than now? “How are you making your voices _do_ that?”

            And like that, the room went tense. Now both brothers were staring at them, faces slack as they gawked at Frisk. Papyrus even let his fork slip from his fingers before he managed to find his voice again.

            “Frisk,” Sans began, setting his fork down, “how are _you_ doing that?”

            Frisk frowned. “Doing what?”

            “Hey,” Asriel piped in, frowning at them. “Don’t leave me out! What are you guys talking about and why do you all sound so weird?”

            “Weird like how?” Frisk asked as they turned to him.

            “Ah! And now it stopped again,” he said, sitting back. “How did you do that to your voice?”

            “Did _what_ to my voice?”

            “That—that thing! That thing that Papyrus and Sans do every now and then,” he quipped back; interestingly, Sans and Papyrus both glanced at each other. Had they not realized that Asriel and Frisk had noticed those little conversations?

            “I’ll be honest, kid, I don’t know what you mean—what did my voice sound like?” Frisk asked.

            “You did that thing that where they talk in that weird language that I can never make out,” Asriel answered, leaning in. “Whenever anyone talks in it, it sounds like they’re in a tunnel or something!”

            Frisk froze. “Wait, _I_ was doing that? I was speaking in another language?”

            “Yeah! I couldn’t understand what you were saying—what _were_ you saying?”

            “I was asking them how they did _that_ thing with their voice too,” they answered before grimacing. “But I understood them just fine. It really sounded like another language?”

            For a moment, both skeletons sat, frozen and staring. Then Papyrus’s hand started to shake—before they could ask what his problem was, he nearly jumped to his feet and slapped his hands against the tabletop. _“But that’s impossible!”_ Papyrus finally shouted, startling Asriel and Frisk. “How on earth did you understand us?”

            “Frisk,” Sans began, leaning his elbows heavily against the table and scrubbing his face with his hands. “What exactly did you hear us say?”

            Frisk glanced at him and tried not let their unease show. “You mentioned something about someone giving you guys potato chips when you were little, I think? You said you used to eat them and then get hungry again afterward. Then Papyrus said that you and that other person were both hopeless.”

            There was a long pause; Papyrus gawked, jaw hanging open, either in shock or dismay. Sans just quietly cursed and got up, heading towards the cupboards. “I need a drink.”

            Despite his stupor, Papyrus snapped his arm out and grabbed his brother by his sleeve. “Drink later. We’re figuring this out now.”

            Sans didn’t bother to shake off his brother’s grip. “There’s no point to it,” Sans replied, voice echoing again. “They’re speaking in Hands, that’s all there is to it.”

            “But _how_ are they speaking in Hands?” Papyrus snapped. “No other monster can speak it—it’s _our_ language!”

            Frisk blinked. Speaking in Hands? A special language between the brothers—or perhaps between skeleton monsters in general?

            “Not _just_ us,” Sans said. It seemed enough for Papyrus; his eyes went wide and he let go of Sans’ sleeve before finally sitting back down. After a long moment, Sans stalked towards the cupboards and opened the cabinets to dig out a tall bottle of bourbon.

            Asriel sighed, aggravated. “Hey, guys, come on. What’s going on?”

            Frisk watched the two skeletons, trying to control their racing heart. Finally, they turned to the young prince. “Hey, bud,” they called; once he looked at them, they gave him a patient smile. “I think that’s something we’ll have to figure out another time.”

            Asriel pouted, but Papyrus’s shoulders loosened as his body relaxed. He shot Frisk a grateful look. Behind him, Sans paused in his search for alcohol, shut the cupboard, and instead began to search for mustard instead.

            Later, when Frisk walked out of the shower, still toweling their hair, they paused in surprise as they looked at the bed. Sans hadn’t got out any papers that they needed to go over for later, and instead was sitting at the head of the bed, reclining into the pillows. When they walked out, he was gazing idly out their bedroom window. It was winter in New Home and frost clung to the windows, making delicate patterns on the glass.

            Frisk considered him and then tossed their damp towel on the floor, idly promising themselves that they’d pick up later, though they never would. They thought about sitting more towards the foot of the bed so they could properly look him in the face, but decided it seemed a little too confrontational. Instead, they joined him at the head of the bed, sliding in next to him. They waited for a moment then reached out and prodded his hand. When he finally glanced at him, they smiled. “You look like I’m going to stab you.”

            He snorted. “Are you?”

            “Never,” they answered with a grin. At his thoughtful look, they prodded his hand again. “You don’t really think I’d attack you, do you?”

            “This was a world of kill or be killed once,” he tried to quip, but even he didn’t look convinced by his own bullshit. Tellingly, he offered them his fingers so they could twine their own around his.

            They did so gleefully and chuckled as well. “I’d never do it and you know it.” To drive the point home, they pulled his hand up and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “And I’m not going to grill you over what happened either.”

            He squinted at them. “That’s awful considerate of you.”

            “Being considerate is a talent I’ve long tried to cultivate,” they quipped, setting their conjoined hands back on the blankets. “And also, you two looked pretty spooked when it happened. Like you didn’t want to talk about it. Whatever it was, I can wait for a while if you need me to.” There were so many other things to worry about—monsters rejoining the surface world, human and monster relations, Asriel’s strained relationship with his parents, this odd thing that may or may not be growing between them and Sans—that Frisk knew that this was one thing they wouldn’t mind shelving for now.

            Instead, Sans paused, staring and then finally closed his eyes. “You know that there’s only five other skeletons in the Underground besides me and Paps, right?”

            Frisk froze. _Huh. I honestly didn’t expect him to just go with this._ “Yeah?”

            “There used to be another one of us,” he went on, opening his eyes to gaze down at their shoulder instead of their face. “He had trouble being understood by other monsters besides skeletons.”

            “I take it he… spoke in Hands?”

            Sans looked into their eyes. “Yeah.”

            Frisk waited for a moment. “Okay.”

            Sans sighed. “You should know—he’s the one who gave you these holes,” he said, glancing down at their hands, as if he could see straight through the gloves they’d already pulled on. Frisk froze. “He put that magic in you. He must have also put that ability in you as well.”

            “Oh.” Their voice sounded small, even to them.

            Sans grimaced. “And you should also know. He was my and Paps’ brother.”

            They couldn’t find their voice for a moment. When they did find out, they could only manage a pitiful “oh.”

            Oh. Your brother erased a child, stole some data from another person, and created me.

            Oh. Your brother kidnapped me and tried to send me into the depths of despair so he could take control of my body and soul to do who knows what.

            Oh. You attacked your brother to save me.

            “Oh, indeed,” he snorted.

            They tightened their grip on his hand and let the conversation die for that night.

 

 

 

 

            Three full weeks passed before Frisk broached the subject again. Late one night, after a frustrating evening of trying to find new ways to convince more monsters that humans were no longer their enemies, Frisk prodded the center of their palm and glanced at Sans, who was rubbing his temples. “Was he really your brother?”

            “Hmm? What about Pap?”

            “Not Papyrus,” they murmured. “Gaster.”

            Sans paused. For a moment, they thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he surprised them. “It’s complicated. Why do you want to know?”

            There were so many reasons they could give him, including the most harmless answer of ‘I need something to distract me from this headache’, but instead they went with one that was just as honest. “I was thinking about home. My mother and father. Got me curious what your family was like, besides Papyrus.”

            He quietly tapped his fingers against his knees before answering. “Are you… homesick?”

            With a sigh, they slumped over against him and closed their eyes. With them closed, they could almost pretend that they were just lying against Papyrus on the couch, that if they kept them closed that they could hear Toriel, humming in the kitchen while Sans told her jokes to make her smile. They opened their eyes and wondered if they were disappointed or not to still be sitting in bed. “I don’t know. Maybe a little.”

            Carefully, he pulled his arm free from where they’d trapped it against them and draped it across their shoulders. “No,” he said, making them look up at him. “Me and Papyrus didn’t really have parents. Because Gaster kinda _was_ our parent.”

            Frisk blinked. “That’s, um. It sounds… _complicated_ alright.”

            Rather than immediately reply, he dug out a pack of cigarettes out of the bedside table and lit one for himself before offering the pack and lighter to Frisk.

            They took out a smoke, hoping that it would help their headache, and lit up the stick before handing the lighter back to Sans. When he didn’t look like he was going to answer, they decided to try again. “Why do you call him your brother if he was really your father?”

            “Honestly?” Sans asked, rhetorically as he breathed out a long puff of smoke. “I think he just hated the idea of us call him that. Heh. To piss him off, I’d call him ‘old man’. He hated it.” He drummed his fingers against their shoulder before going on. “He didn’t feel like our father anyway. ‘Brother’ felt more right. Usually.”

            “Can skeletons make children without a partner?” That wasn’t how it worked back in their old world—their original’s world? Back there, Papyrus had said as much. Sans and Toriel couldn’t have had children together even if they wanted to. Something about how skeletons created their children, it wouldn’t mesh with Toriel’s biology. They didn’t know; they hadn’t cared to learn back then.

            “No. That’s why he is _technically_ our father.” He held up one of his hands. “You know how he has holes in his hands?”

            They could feel the absences in their own palms burn at the thought. “I’m aware.”

            Their sarcasm made him smile, just a little. “Yeah, well, he wasn’t born with those. He cut off a chunk of his hands to get enough biological and magical material and grew me and Pap from them.”

            They sat up, staring. “He grew you… from some chunks of his own hands?”

            Sans chuckled, face looking dark. “He wasn’t called a genius for nothing.”

            They glanced down at their hands, picturing the holes in a new light. The holes in their hands always unsettled them, made their stomach churn and their blood race in their ears. But, the idea that they were symbols of a sacrifice made that brought about Sans and Papyrus—they paused and shuddered. No. The holes in _their_ hands were never that. But, somewhere in the void, there were a pair of hands that had brought two of their favorite people into existence.

            Maybe they could learn not to hate _those_ holes at least.

            They closed their eyes and curled tighter against him. “Why did he hate the idea of being called your father though?”

            “I dunno,” he grunted and then paused. “Pap… when he was little, he used to think that maybe Gaster had another family before the war, before the barrier. I know he was already an adult by then, so maybe he did have another family back then. He didn’t talk about it much. Maybe it was because that family was his own parents. Maybe he had siblings who he missed. Maybe he had a spouse and other kids and he didn’t like being reminded of them.

            “But it doesn’t really matter. Because in the end, he wanted us to call him brother, so we did.”

 

 

 

 

            That was not the last they spoke of him. Despite knowing that it never seemed to make either brother happy, they would always find themselves wondering more and more about Doctor W.D. Gaster until they finally turned to the brothers and asked.

            They didn’t always get answers, but sometimes they did. The information came in bursts—Sans would say something, Papyrus would recall something, and then some nugget of the past would tumble out of their mouths before they clammed up again.

            Sometimes, Sans would find them sitting in the kitchen at three in the morning, going over their papers for work to have something to do, would walk over to the table, sit down, and just start spilling stories from his teeth like if he didn’t purge them he’d choke on them like an alcoholic on vomit. Those were grimmer tales, ones that they weren’t sure Papyrus would like to hear spoken, thus they were saved for those lonely times when it was only Frisk awake.

            This was what they did learn.

            Gaster was a Royal Scientist before the War and the imprisonment of monster kind. Back then, the title had been Royal Alchemist, but that changed later on, something monsters had picked up from humanity. He’d been the one to insist on changing the title—he’d never dabbled much into alchemy in the first place, but then he hadn’t much cared for being called a “natural philosopher” either.

            Monster kind had once spread far and wide, little different from humans, and those monsters with communities closest to humans were first attacked, which included skeletons. They, the entire skeleton race, were erased except for six beings.

            Gaster hadn’t even been home, which was why he’d been spared. He also hadn’t been there for his family’s last moments.

            After being sealed into the depths of Mount Ebott, the skeletal survivors separated, disappearing into the shadows and silence of the caverns rather than be forced to live in the cramped spaces that monster kind was settling into. Only he hadn’t vanished; perhaps too tied to his work, perhaps too hesitant to cut ties with the monarchs who were in dire need of his help. Perhaps he’d volunteered to stay in the limelight, to be available to the others whenever they had need for him.

            The brothers didn’t know.

            Gaster created many new wonders to aid monster kind, made many discoveries—from harnessing geothermal energy and creating the engineering wonder of the CORE, to discovering the effect of lack of empathy had to a monster’s magic, to the reason why monsters fell down, to mapping out the components of a human soul. He’d fostered new generations of scientists, written books about every branch of science that interested him.

            He’d done so much. And yet, he hadn’t been able to cure Chara when they fell ill from buttercup poisoning, nor saved Asriel before he died.

            He couldn’t stop the King from creating a terrible law. He couldn’t stop the Queen from leaving.

            He couldn’t help any of it.

            For over fifty years, he’d been as helpless as the rest of monsters as their world went to hell.

            And then he decided to do something for at least one of those problems.

            For decades more, he studied.

            And then he cut a whole out of the palm of his hand. Then he grew a skeleton out of it.

            Sans. The first new skeleton birth in nearly two millennia, as far as Sans and Papyrus knew.

            Sans remembered the first time he really looked at Gaster and recognized him. In the incubation tubes, everything was blue and bubbly. If he kicked and flailed enough, he could create a storm of bubbles which had been his only source of entertainment aside from the blurs. Outside the tubes, there was nothing but shadows. But sometimes, something approached the tube, a long pale figure would stand near the tube for a few moments before disappearing back into the shadows.

            There was little to really see of the figure, which is why Sans hadn’t realized it was another living being until the figure pressed his hand up against the glass.

            The figure had never touched the glass before—or at least Sans didn’t remember if he had. But now a hand—massive in comparison to his—pressed against the glass, palm flat, fingers spread. Sans had reached for this new thing, pressed his own tiny hand against the thing, and stared. His small hand was completely dwarfed, his whole hand fitting so easily just inside the hole at the center of his metacarpus that he could have pressed his other hand and his feet and still have extra room. He stared, noticing that despite the differences in size and that while his metacarpal bones weren’t fused or even the giant hole in the palm, the hand was still very much like his own. And that could only mean that on the other side of the glass, something just as alive as him was waiting, watching. With a burbling cry, he smacked his hands against the glass and flailed. He wanted to be out there too, to know who was there, and to not be alone.

            Gaster pulled him out of the tube the next day.

            Before then, Gaster had been looking in through the glass at him and saying ‘my latest experiment’. After Sans had reached back and then threw a tantrum at the injustice of being alone, he said ‘this child, my brother’.

            “Probably just didn’t want to deal with the pressure of being a father,” Sans said abruptly at four in the morning during one of those long nights that sleep eluded them both. “But fuck, who knows why the old man did it.”

            “Maybe he just wasn’t ready to be a father,” Frisk offered, voice soft. “Or perhaps wasn’t ready to be one again, if he _did_ have children before.”

            Sans shrugged. “Like I said. Who knows.”

            Sans was not an easy child—his overall health was never fantastic, but in the confines of the secluded laboratories that were kept restricted, he grew quick and curious. He was constantly getting into something, demanding attention and then answers. Despite not wanting to be much of a father, Gaster never stopped answering his questions or helping Sans seek out the answers for himself. He wasn’t much for affection or comfort, but he taught Sans to read before he was three and encouraged him to press farther. When it came to knowledge, Sans was free to explore and study as much as he wanted. But only as long as he stayed in the labs.

            Outside the labs, monsters killed each other constantly and the population dwindled. Inside, Sans was safe. But he was also very alone, with only Gaster for company.

            He was five when he looked into the dictionary, skimming the entries until he finally found the definition he was looking for. Having found it, he read it, focused in on every dip and curl of every letter until he snapped the book shut and dragged it to Gaster.

            Gaster only raised an eyebrow ridge as Sans hefted the book up into his caretaker’s lap, opened it to a page, and pointed. “I want this.”

            “You already have books. Do you want a new one?”

            “No, _this,”_ he insisted, tapping the page. “I want _this.”_

            Gaster read it and frowned. “You want a sibling? Sans, you already have a sibling.”

            Sans put his hands on his hips. “I want a _younger_ one. You’re too old.”

            Gaster blinked down at him for a moment. “Really, child. You know how to cut a person.”

            Sans beamed up at him. “Down to the bone!”

            The older skeleton snorted—where had this child gotten that sense of humor from anyway? That was the constant refrain Sans heard him asking himself—but turned his attention back to the book. He considered it silently for a long time. Even after he sent Sans to bed, Sans crept out of his cot to watch Gaster ponder the book, his left hand’s fingers pinching his fused together palm.

            It’d be weeks before Sans would wake up one morning to find that Gaster’s good hand now had a matching hole in it and a lump of bone and magic floated in an incubation tube. He had no idea how his brother mutilated his own hand, healed it, began to create a whole new life, and then treated the whole thing as if it was less interesting than looking at another report.

            “That’s how he was,” Sans shrugged, fidgeting with a bottle of mustard, tucked into the curve of Frisk’s body as they sat, smashed together on the wicker bench of their balcony. Below, they could hear Asriel and Papyrus—the child had begged for some help learning how to ride a bicycle. Unfortunately for him, Papyrus didn’t actually know how to ride a bike, so mostly the lessons consisted of tilting over until he could flop safely on the grass.

            Frisk should have gone down there to actually teach him, but at the moment they were focused on their arms around Sans, one hand buried in the folds of his coat while with their other hand they dug their thumb into the empty space of their palm and wondered. “So he was distant. A lot?”

            Sans snorted. “All the goddamn time. Aloof summed him up pretty well. He liked being alone with this thoughts and he seemed to think that everyone else should be just as satisfied too.” He paused and shot a squirt of mustard down his gullet. “He just wasn’t big about really caring what others thought. All he would think about when it came to that was how to make sure no one got murdered.”

            “And how did that usually work out?”

            “Well,” he began before shrugging. “Pap and I made it to adulthood, didn’t we?”

            “After some near misses.” They tapped his skull, curious. “You said he used to keep you and Papyrus just in the labs, right?”

            “Yeah. My defense has always been really shitty, and Papyrus was too young. His stats were better, but he was a sweet kid.”

            “Didn’t have a mean bone in his body?”

            Sans chuckled. “Yeah. Something to that effect.”

            “So,” they began, idly tracing loops and circles against his shoulder, “why did he decide to let you guys out?”

            Sans looked away.

 

 

 

            It had not been Gaster’s choice to introduce the boys to the outside world. Before then, they’d been more or less content with their small world; they knew they weren’t supposed to leave, but that hadn’t been quite so troublesome. They’d been curious about what was outside the private labs, about the other scientists Gaster mentioned on occasion, but neither were really busting down the doors trying to get out either.

            After Papyrus grew enough to survive outside the incubation tube as an infant, Sans had always been very taken with him. He wanted to do everything with his baby brother and never wanted to hand him over to Gaster for anything. He would only reluctantly hand him over when Papyrus would get into incessant crying fits. Even then, he’d only wanted to look after his brother and hated admitting defeat when he couldn’t find away to quiet him.

            When Papyrus grew, Sans stayed by his little brother’s side nearly around the clock. He taught him everything he could—he got Papyrus walking and talking early, taught him how to read by four, and had him learning how to use magic before then.

            By five, he’d been quite the little prodigy when it came to magic, even learning how to summon Gaster Blasters. Not even Gaster could claim to be as proud of Papyrus as Sans. With his magic increasing, they were allowed to visit more of the labs and even the CORE.

            The CORE was where everything changed. The boys were still young, Papyrus having just turned five, and both were excited at first to see the CORE. Their excitement faded when they realized they’d only been brought to the CORE so Gaster could do some diagnostics on the machines. He let them wander about the catwalks as he worked; the machines were delicate things and he had to climb up into awkward places to check everything. While the boys reluctantly stayed back and played, he had to clamber up and down the walls, checking the machines behind the panels.

            It was bad luck the power surge happened while Gaster had his hands buried into some of the guts of one wall. The CORE’s magic surged, flaring a bright white that dazzled the boys; Gaster never saw it as magic transformed into pure electricity and shot through the CORE’s innards. Most of the fail-safes kicked on in time, saving the delicate wires and coils from shorting out. Unfortunately, Gaster had shut off the ones for the circuit he’d been working on. Power grabbed him, locking up his arms as white hot energy shot up his arms.

            The blast knocked him loose from the wall and he swam out of unconsciousness as he started falling towards the wells of magical light under the CORE.

            Only Papyrus saw their brother start to fall as he turned to ask a question. With a shriek, he reached out and gestured to Gaster, fingers curling in as if to pull him back. Surprisingly, it worked—blue magic enveloped Gaster’s body and yanked him backward. While he didn’t keep a hold of Gaster’s body for long, the magical pull was enough to send him crashing safely back onto the catwalk.

            Sans saw all this from the corner of his eye socket. When Gaster smacked into the iron grated floor, he ran over and checked on him. He helped Gaster sit up, still dazed. It took him a few tries, but he finally managed to explain that he was fine before he asked what exactly had happened. Sans told him quickly and they both turned to look at Papyrus.

            Papyrus, for his part, was so nervous he just immediately began to cry. Once they managed to reassure him he wasn’t in trouble, Sans having to pointedly glare at Gaster to get him to back him up, Gaster hurried them back to the safety of the labs.

            He looked thoughtful as he put Papyrus to bed that night. When Sans asked him why, he still looked like he was thinking it over. “Well. I suppose if Papyrus has a good enough handle on blue magic, I really don’t have a reason not to take you two to meet the Overlord.”

            “Why would you want to take us to meet your boss?” he asked bluntly.

            When Gaster looked down at him, there might have been a trace of pride as he squared his shoulders. “This proves that I have successfully created entirely new lives who are nearly identical to children created by more traditional breeding. While your stats might not be terribly impressive-”

            “Thanks, old man. Really appreciate the vote of confidence.”

            “Oh shush, your intellect makes up for any inadequacies you might have on the battlefield.” The backhanded compliment was enough to startle a chuckle out of Sans; judging from Gaster’s little smile, that’d been his intention. “But Papyrus’ stats are exceptional for a child of his growth. He proves that we can use my methods to start breeding more monsters, especially ones from the endangered lines.”

            “Ah, well. He’ll get a kick out of being monster kind’s beacon of hope.”

            “That better not be jealousy prompting that,” he grunted, turning to flip through a folder of papers. “I won’t stand for squabbling out of you two.”

            “It’s not jealousy,” Sans groused back, climbing up onto a stool. “I know I’m just a prototype.  He’s the perfected model.”

            Gaster didn’t even bother to dignify that statement by looking up. “Prototypes are important parts to creating any new project. Besides,” he set the folder down began typing away on his computer. “Papyrus wouldn’t see you as a prototype.”

            Sans fell silent before finally chuckling. “Yeah. Probably not.”

 

 

 

 

            “How old were you when you guys met Asgore?” Frisk asked one afternoon. They and Papyrus were in the garage, Frisk teaching him how to change the oil in his car. Out of the back of the garage, they could hear Asriel playing in the sprinkler, trying to ignore the summer heat. He’d been annoyed because they’d all been banned from the public pool—Asriel shed too much, Papyrus threatened other swimmers too much, Sans kept scaring kids by napping in the shallow end, and Frisk had a panic attack when some rambunctious kids knocked them into the deep end, leading to Papyrus threatening everyone in the first place.

            Papyrus frowned—they weren’t sure if it was because he was focusing on watching them prep the new oil filter, or if it was because he didn’t want to answer the question. Finally, he grumbled as they handed him the filter so he could put into place himself. “I was five. Didn’t Sans tell you anything about this already?”

            “Most of what I get out of him is just bits and pieces. He started telling me once, but then he trailed off and I never got to hear the end of it. Do you not remember much of it?”

            “Well, that _was_ fifteen years ago.”

            “Yes, yes, you’re quite the old man now.”

            Papyrus looked very satisfied as they both took a step back from the engine. “Twenty is a very respectable age for a monster.”

            “Yep, you’re a full grown adult. So old and grown, you can’t even remember back to your childhood,” they added as they turned to clean up some of the mess they made, turning before he could catch the look on their face.

            “Rude,” he growled, but there was no bite to his words. After all, he’d been the one trying to dodge the question in the first place. He sighed and looked away. “I don’t honestly remember all that much about meeting the Over—Asgore.”

            “Well, what _do_ you remember?”

            Papyrus considered the question before finally answering. “I remember being more excited by the fact that we had all left the lab together and actually gone into the city. New Home was a bit overwhelming and our brother was very careful to keep us close as we walked through it. Monsters usually wouldn’t have attacked a family out together, but he was cautious with us being out. We weren’t out for long—we just transferred from one elevator to another and then we went straight into the castle.

            “The castle was… intimidating for a five year old. Even as someone who was always very great, I stuck close to my brothers while we walked the halls.”

            “Well, it was a very sensible thing to do,” they offered.

            He nodded, smirking. “Yes, exactly! Anyway, we walked for a while after that. We didn’t go to the throne room. I remember being disappointed we didn’t get to see it. Instead, it was probably one of the smaller meeting rooms elsewhere. Easier to defend, I think.

            “I can’t say I actually recall seeing Asgore’s face. I know I must have looked at him, but I,” he paused, frowned, and then cleared his throat. “But then I was struck by a very humble and gracious moment, so I wisely put my head down to not astound everyone with my young, but undeniable greatness.”

            Meaning he got shy and probably hid behind Sans. Frisk had to bite their lip not to grin. “I see. Even back then, you were a very wise child.”

            “Of course! Would you expect anything less from someone as amazing as I?”

            They went to rest their chin in their palm, remembered the oil on it, then switched to resting their chin against the back of their knuckles instead. “Oh yes, very much so. I would have been incredibly intimidated if I’d been that little and met Asgore. I really couldn’t compare to you at all.”

            Papyrus paused and looked a little sheepish. “Well,” he began before patting their shoulder kindly, “perhaps I was a _tad_ intimidated, being five and all, but I’m sure you would have been very amiable and polite.”

            Frisk grinned. At five, they probably would have pissed themselves and cried to their grandfather. It wouldn’t exactly be a great meeting. “You’re all kindness, Papyrus. Thank you.”

            He huffed, pleased, his skull a little pink from all the praise. “Yes, well. Where was I? Ah, the Overlord—Asgore. Anyway, he listened to our brother talk for a while, no doubt explaining who we were and how we came to be. Then he talked to me and Sans directly. Well, mostly Sans.”

            “Courteously allowing him more time to talk since he was older, huh?”

            “What else? He was quite pleased with our brother for his work with us. He even immediately agreed to dedicate more funds to start more projects to revive the endangered bloodlines.” He frowned. “But, in spite of that happy news, I remember him being… displeased.”

            “Oh? What about?”

            “The fact that our brother had kept us confined to the labs. It would keep us coddled and unprepared for the world outside once we grew up, he said. Which was correct,” he added with a shrug.

            Frisk didn’t doubt it, but knowing Asgore, they wondered if perhaps there wasn’t a bit of parental concern that maybe the boys would become emotionally or mentally stunted from being stuck in the same place for so long.

            “Our brother agreed after some lengthy persuasion.” His face sobered as he finished. “I’m sure it was well meant, but considering… what happened a few weeks later, with. Well. You know.”

            Doggo. Yeah. They knew.

            “Perhaps it would have been better if we’d stayed in the lab,” Papyrus admitted softly, looking at but not truly seeing the car’s engine.

            “Perhaps,” Frisk agreed before reaching out and giving the hand closest to them a squeeze. When he looked at them, they smiled. “It’s not really for us to know what could have or would have been.”

            Papyrus looked at them before finally squeezing their hand in return. “Most likely.”

            “What happened after that?”

            They meant for him to talk about the weeks or months later, but he surprised them when he opened his mouth. “After the attack, Sans hurried me home. I was… out of sorts. He-” he clenched his jaw. “He wouldn’t answer me at all! I was frustrated to the point of tears.”

            _Frustrated and **terrified** to tears maybe,_ they thought, but they’d never say that aloud. “So, he didn’t talk to you at all the whole way home? What about once you got there?”

            The frustration slid off Papyrus’s frame, but he looked no more pleased than before. “He left me with our brother. Gave the barest explanation, so I had to answer the rest of the questions. Which was… admittedly,” he grimaced, “not something I was really… _prepared_ to do.”

            They rested their head against his arm, hoping the closeness would help. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t. “But you did it?”

            “Obviously. Would you expect anything else?”

            “Always the consummate professional.” They smiled faintly before letting it fade. “What happened then?”

            Papyrus tugged on his gloves, as if they’d suddenly slipped down—extremely unlikely. Something about skeleton auras actually kept their clothes in place as if they were cemented, if they weren’t running helter skelter everywhere. And yet, he still didn’t answer.

            How to explain? It was, after all, a private memory of a painful time. But, this was Frisk. Frisk was important to them all; they could be trusted with sensitive information like this. After a moment, he found himself speaking as he dived back into the memory of being small and scared and frightfully alive while out in the Underground another was not _because_ of him.

            Papyrus had wept into his hands, pressing them against his eye sockets. His mittens, coated in a faint layer of dust, laid on the floor next to his coat. Gaster had dropped them there after he winced at the grey smudged cheekbones of the child that now half slumped against his knees. The clothes would be burned later since monster dust didn’t come off anything unless you fought hard against it. Even the hand towel that Gaster used to try and scrub the dust off his youngest brother’s face would be destroyed.

            Papyrus choked on a hiccup that was half a word, half a cough, but was enough to finish an explanation of what happened. Papyrus’s ribcage hitched painfully as he tucked himself against his oldest brother’s front. “I’m s-so-sor-ry! I—I m-messed up e-everything and—and _Sans hates me!”_

            Gaster, seeing the child’s face was mostly clean, dropped the hand towel to the floor. “Sans does not hate you.”

            “He does!” Papyrus insisted, sounding as though the words were going to make his soul break through sorrow alone. “He h-ha-hates me! I’ve r-r-ruined ev-everything!”

            “Sans does _not_ hate you,” Gaster said again, voice firm. “And I won’t repeat myself again.”

            Papyrus sniffled and blinked up at him, leaning heavily into his brother’s knees. “But…”

            “No. I won’t have. Now, then, Papyrus, you listen here because I don’t want to be repeating this on for the rest of the night either. What happened was not your fault and you, frankly, didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done if _I_ had been in your place.”

            Papyrus stared, so surprised he forgot his tears for a moment. “What?”

            Gaster frowned down at him for a moment before he reached down, slid his hands under his brother’s arms, and hoisted him up in the air. After his little brother let out the tiniest gasp of surprise, Gaster settled him on his lap so he could stare him more directly in the eye sockets. “You protected Sans, Papyrus. You did just as a brother would do. What I would do. What Sans would and will probably do in the future to, as will you and as will I. There is nothing to be ashamed of. If you hadn’t done what you did, we might not have Sans here at and isn’t that far worse than what did happen? Hmm?”

            “Uh, yeah?” he offered, startled.

            “So then. If Sans being alive is good, then you have done nothing wrong. So, he has no reason to hate you—not that he does—nor do you have a reason to cry. You did good work and were a good brother, Papyrus. That is what matters.”

            Papyrus paused for a moment before tossing his arms around his brother’s neck. “Okay,” he murmured, trying not t sniff again. “Okay. I… I did good.”

            Gaster froze, hands faltering for a moment before coming to land stiffly on Papyrus’s back—he never seemed sure what to do with hugs—before managing a few awkward pats. “Yes. Yes, you did.” Carefully, he reached up and untangled the smaller skeleton’s arms from his neck. “And now that I know I can trust you to look after him, I’m going to need you to promise that you’ll _keep_ looking after him.”

            “Me? Look after him?”

            “Yes. I believe you can do that. Will you?”

            Papyrus paused to scrub at his face; once he was satisfied, he looked up and nodded. “Mm! I swear, I’ll do my absolute best, so you can count on me!”

            “Good. I expect nothing less from you.”

            But while it’s easy to keep a promise if you follow the words, it’s harder to keep it by the spirit. He did do everything he could to keep his brother safe from harm. And yet, a warmth in their relationship had gone out and Papyrus was afraid to put his finger on the exact cause. Maybe if it hadn’t been their two personalities together, maybe time would have soothed out some of the rough edges. Instead, space seeped into their relationship.

            In the future, Sans would admit that it was him that pulled away first. Guilt ate at him and he pulled back from Papyrus. When that happened, Papyrus went to Gaster—who’d never quite known how to handle the neediness of children, but tried to be patient. Finding himself alone, Sans tried to say something about it to Papyrus once. He’d only meant to be a little teasing—“running off to sob at that old sack of bones, huh?” But truth turned the words bitter in his mouth and when he said it, there was a sharpness that cut to them. “Aren’t you too old for that?”

            The brothers talked less and less after that.

 

 

 

 

            Alphys, surprisingly enough, revealed that she had some strange almost recollections of Gaster. She admitted it after Undyne announced she wanted to try and have a child, after Alphys nearly had a panic attack just trying to think over the logistics of the pregnancy. She ended up huddled against Frisk’s side, hands held by Frisk’s to keep her from digging at her arms.

            Giving the thick fingers a squeeze, Frisk called her name. For a moment, that haunted look in the scientist’s eyes disappeared and Frisk was almost triumphant. It returned fast, but it felt encouraging. “When did you first meet Sans?”

            Alphys had to consider the words, which meant she was distracted. Good. “I was an intern. He was also an intern, but he was younger than me. F-fifteen! I was annoyed to see that the Royal Scientist would pick his…” she paused, frowning. “Uh. His…”

            Surprise clamped down on Frisk’s heart as hope bloomed for a far more selfish reason. “His brother?”

            “Yes!” Alphys paused, frowning. “He must have been. I was annoyed at first but then I saw how _smart_ Sans used to be. Back when he put effort into stuff, I m-mean.”

            Part of them wanted to bristle and come to Sans’ defense, but they sat that aside. “Alphys, you knew Gaster?”

            “Gaster…” she stared at the floor. “Huh. That’s right. That _w-was_ his name. He must have been a skeleton too.”

            Frisk’s lips twisted as they grimaced. Okay, maybe she didn’t _quite_ remember him. At least it seemed to be distracting her from her panic attack from earlier “You don’t remember if he was a skeleton or not?”

            “No. I mean, y-yes, he _had_ to be. He was San’s brother after all. That’s how Sans got the job in the first place.” She sighed. “Fifteen years old and already an assistant to the Royal Scientist. He always was a lucky b-bastard. I would have chewed off my own hand for an opportunity like that.”

            Frisk blinked. _Fifteen years old? I mean, yeah, I knew he was a scientist for a while, but that’s a little much, isn’t it?_ “Just what was it you guys were working on back then?”

            She snorted and shifted around. “What else would we be working on? How to get around the Barrier. In the end, everything always led back to getting past the Barrier. No one wanted to wait for more souls to fall, so we all tried to find ways to escape. There were thousands of experiments we did, trying to get base readouts from the Barrier, trying all kinds of magic on it to see what could affect it the most. There were some projects that were there to help better our lives, but those were never as important as destroying the Barrier.”

            “And what was your project?” they asked, smiling at little to see her looking calmer yet. Or at least more distracted from her worries. Either worked. “Something to do with robots, maybe?”

            “I was trying to recreate humans s-souls. I wrote a thesis paper when I entered the university’s science program. Someone found it and recommended me as an intern for the Royal Science Division.” She sighed. “It never worked—we could break down some of the mechanics of the soul, we could figure out how to extract determination out of it, but we could never create a new copy of a soul.”

            “Well, what else did you work on? They can’t all have been failures.”

            Alphys rolled her eyes. “Of course, they were all failures. We never got past the Barrier.”

            Well, sassy was better than nothing, Frisk supposed. “You know what I mean. Wasn’t there any memorable experiments you guys had back then that lead to some good?”

            Alphys stewed for a moment before answering. “There was _s-some_ stuff. There was Sans and Papyrus if nothing. Recreating monster family lines was put on the backburner for a long time though. It wasn’t easy to find monsters willing to give up chunks of their bodies just to make children they weren’t sure they could raise and take care of. Then there were all the weaponry we ended up creating when we hoped we could just crack the Barrier open with brute force. That’s where Sans and Papyrus ended up getting some of the stupid shit they use to attack.”

            Ah, yes. The Gaster Blasters—Papyrus had been the one to explain those to them while Frisk tried not to look uneasy when he showed them off. They could still remember trying to dodge Sans’ during their fight.

            “And there was Sans’ project too,” she continued, sounding distant. “That one… it showed lots of promise. That was… it was based off some of the doctor’s old blue prints. I remember Sans, when he first proposed the project to the head scientist, he was excited. We all were. We thought we’d finally found a way to bypass the Barrier.”

            “And what was the project?”

            Alphys blinked, looking at them as if realizing they were there for the first time. “What?”

            “The project, what was it?” At her continued blank stare, Frisk frowned. “The one based on Gaster’s blue prints?”

            Alphys just stared. “Who?”

            Before they could ask again, there was a sharp knock at the door. Sans stepped in, raising an eyebrow ridge at them as they were still sitting huddled together on the floor. “Hey, Undyne’s looking for you. She sent me to come find you.”

            “What? W-where is she?” Alphys asked, scrambling to get up.

            “Back in your kitchen last I saw. Hurry up, I don’t want to have to hear screaming anymore as she looks for you.” He stepped aside to let her hurry past him, but once she vanished, he turned back to Frisk. He walked over to them and helped them up, neither speaking for a moment. Both already knew what he was going to say anyway. Still, he supposed he had to try anyway. “Don’t bother asking Al anything about the old man. You’ll just get a headache trying to chase down clues she doesn’t have.”

            “What happened? She just forgot all of a sudden,” they said before pausing. “Or at least I thought it was all of a sudden. It was… weird.”

            He shrugged. “It’s what happens to anyone who starts to remember him. They’ll know what you’re talking about for a minute or two, but the memories are gone again in another minute. There’s no point bothering to ask about it.”

            Frisk frowned. “But I don’t forget.”

            “Yeah, I noticed,” he quipped, mirthless before idly scratching his jaw.

            They tried not to clench their jaw when they saw his nervous tick. “You probably have a theory too then, huh?” When they didn’t get more of a reaction than him shifting around, they smiled, but it never reached their eyes as they patted his shoulder. “Actually, don’t tell me if you do. There’s some things better left unsaid, I think.”

 

 

 

 

            “Papyrus, why did you become a sentry in Snowdin?”

            Frisk paused and looked up from their paperwork to see Asriel and Papyrus sitting on the couch, the two of them distracted from the television while an obnoxious ad played on the screen. They couldn’t blame either for ignoring it.

            Papyrus answered promptly. “Because I wanted to become a member of the Royal Guard of course! I was too young to join the Guard proper, but the restrictions are lower for sentries. So, I figured it was my best shot to be a Guard sooner, if I could impress Undyne with my diligence and spotless work record.”

            “And you must have,” Frisk said, smiling. “You are a perfect Guard of course.”

            “Yeah,” Asriel laughed. “You’re the best at it!”

            Papyrus tried to look humble as he preened, smirking broadly. “Yes, of course! I surely had no doubts about it. Although,” he reached out and patted the top of Asriel’s head. “I do have to acknowledge that I have a pair of very exemplary charges to look after.” While Asriel laughed in delight and some embarrassment, Papyrus glared at Frisk, although they could see the teasing glint in his eye sockets. “You could learn a thing or two from our princes, Frisk. You’re never too old to learn some new things.”

            Frisk barked a laugh before they could even pretend to be offended. “Ouch! Oh, Papyrus, you wound me. How could you cut me like this?” They looked at Asriel. “You hear this? If I die of a broken heart tomorrow, you’ll know why.”

            Rolling his eyes at their dramatics, he turned back to Papyrus, face curious. “Papyrus, how old were you when you became a sentry anyway?”

            “Fifteen.”

            There was a moment of silence as Asriel gawked and Frisk’s pen slipped from their fingers. “Papyrus,” Frisk began after a beat, “did you just say you were fifteen when you become a sentry?”

            He shot them a flat, unimpressed look. “Yes, human, I did. Try to keep up, please.”

            Ignoring the barb, they went on. “And you said that when you became a sentry, you moved to Snowdin.”

            He paused, finally realizing what the problem was. “Yes. There was no need for more sentries in any of the other parts of the Underground, so I _had_ to go to Snowdin.” He smirked. “I was taking care of myself for a long time. Are you impressed?”

            Frisk snorted, shaking their head as they snatched their pen back up. “More like astounded. You moved across the Underground, at the height of the Edict, to a place that you had known enemies. For a job. When you’re fifteen!” They looked at Asriel. “I feel so unaccomplished now.”

            Asriel gazed at Papyrus, starry eyed. “You really _are_ the coolest.”

            Papyrus’s skull turned a funny shade of red while he wore a doofy smile and a shy look in his eyes before he turned to look at the tv. “Oh, look, our show is coming back on! Shall I turn it up? Eheheh?” Despite the fact he was still squirming from pleasure, he reached out and grabbed the remote.

            “Forget the show, I want to hear more about when you came to live in Snowdin!” Asriel shouted, tossing his arms up into the air in wild excitement.

            Grinning, Frisk sat their papers aside. “Yeah, come on. I bet you got some great stories about it.”

            “There’s really not much there to tell. Just know that I was as great then as I am now and that’s all that really matters.”

            “Oh, come on!” Asriel shouted before trying to grab the remote when Papyrus started to turn the volume up. Even though he couldn’t get it from the skeleton, he was still grinning as he failed. “I want to hear about it. Did you really live all alone? How long were you by yourself? _Can_ you live by yourself when you’re just fifteen? Weren’t you _scared_ to be there alone?”

            “Weren’t you scared to be there alone when you knew there were people who wanted you dead?” Frisk asked bluntly.

            The two of them kept pestering him with questions; eventually, he gave into the onslaught and turned the volume back down to answer them. He was at equal measures boastful and humble, honest and prone to exaggerate. Frisk and Asriel, and Chara who would get Asriel to ask their questions, eagerly played their roles as the audience until he was spinning them stories of his brave exploits.

            “But, Papyrus, dear,” they teased while Asriel was still giggling in delight over a story about the time Papyrus tricked Gyftrot into getting his antlers stuck in a tree after he tried to fight the sentry when he came to yell at him for terrorizing the locals. He had to untangle the other monster after that, leaving him to sheepishly grumble and wander off. Knowing Gyftrot as well as they did—he was one of the few monsters who pointedly refused to leave the Underground, so they had to check in with him often—they could just imagine his hangdog manner as he walked off, and they had to agree it’d make for a silly sight. “You still haven’t answered all of our questions.”

            “What question?” he shot back, as he reclined deeper into the couch cushions.

            “When you first moved to Snowdin,” they reminded him, smiling softly as they put their chin in their hand, “were you scared to be alone there?”

            He considered them before shrugging. “It’s not as if I’d never been alone before, you know. But you overestimate the danger. I was still young enough that most people would have left me alone, even if I wasn’t still wearing stripes. And despite our very obvious… dislike of each other, the Canine Unit mostly left me alone back then.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I was too young to target, and not the real source of their ire. They viewed Sans as the source of the trouble, not me.” He shrugged. “And it wasn’t as though I wasn’t without outside protection.”

            “Outside protection?” Asriel echoed. To Frisk surprise, they felt their own shoulders relax—without thinking about it, they’d gotten a little tense over the thought of a young Papyrus alone in the world, even if it was in the past.

            “Mm. People looked in on me a few times a week. Undyne herself came and visited me the day after I moved in.” He smirked. “It would look bad for them to attack a personal protégé to the Captain of the Guard after all.”

            Frisk was fairly certain that most monsters in the Enforcers wouldn’t really have given a shit about that, but they had no urge to tell him that. They had heard enough from Alphys about having to fix up Undyne after one of her underlings attacked her to know that while Loyalty was a trait prized by monsters, the Enforcers weren’t big on it.

            “And from the town itself, I did have Grillby,” he added, looking uninterested.

            Frisk blinked and sat up. “Grillby? You were friends with Grillby?”

            “Mm,” Papyrus hummed, tugging at his gloves, making Frisk pause at the nervous tic. “Not me. He and my brother went back a long time. He asked him to check in on me a few times a week. We didn’t talk much. It’s not like I’d go into his bar if I could help it.” He looked away. “Anyway, even if the Canine Unit wasn’t afraid of annoying Undyne, those idiots wouldn’t try testing the anger of the owner of their favorite dive.” He snorted. “Riffraff.”

            Asriel stared. “Your brother? Sans was friends with Grillby back then?”

            When Papyrus hesitated to answer, when he wouldn’t lift his eyes to eve look at the prince, Frisk knew.

            It was not Sans who was friends with Grillby back then.

            Clearing their throat, they looked pointed at the clock on the wall. “Asriel, aren’t your cartoons coming on soon?”

            The prince perked up and Papyrus was happy to change the channel—and the subject—without a fuss.

            Later, after Frisk tucked Asriel into bed and sat with him for a while, chatting, they left the sleepy prince to sleep. When they turned, they saw Papyrus standing in the hall, looking tense and thoughtful. Blinking slowly, they turned and walked down to him. “Papyrus?” they called softly, trying not to wake Asriel.

            Papyrus glared at the floor for some time before finally glancing up at them. When he did, he sighed and looked away. “It wasn’t Sans who asked Grillby to check in on me. I know you figured that out.”      

            “I did,” they admitted, walking over to him. “Did it bother you? Him helping you so much back then?”

            He stared at them. “No, of course not. We’re… we were… brothers, after all.” He paused, looking back down. “Well. Better at being brothers to each other, maybe.”

            They put a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you were good at it with _both_ of your brothers.” When his shoulders finally relaxed a little, they smiled and decided to change the subject. “So, what was it like? Moving to Snowdin. Did you get set up with a house, or did you have to go house hunting?”

            Papyrus considered them before answering. “Actually, we went house hunting. Our brother wouldn’t agree to let me live in Snowdin on my own before he could see what kind of defenses I could put into a house there.”

            “Sounds interesting! Why don’t you tell me more about it? Come on, we can sit on the couch. Don’t want to wake Asriel up talking.”

            With a nod, Papyrus let them lead him down to the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, god, I'm sorry this is so late. This chapter has literally been in the works for MONTHS, since nearly the beginning of me starting MaKW, and I barely got this much out of me in time. So, this is part one of the backstory for all three Bone Bros; it's choppy and messy and abrupt, but if I don't post this now, I'm not sure if I ever will.
> 
> So, that aside, today is officially the one year anniversary of me posting the first chapter of The World, Upside Down. Lately, I've been working with a beta reader to clean up some of the more unsightly errors, so I'm going to try posting the corrected chapter one today. If you ever want to re-read it, now might be a good time. (Although now right now, I still got to do one quick read through before posting it.)


	36. ...who was not there

            “Why did you first start smoking?”

            Frisk paused, lighter just shy of the cigarette they held between their lips. They glanced up at Sans, but he only looked curious. Smiling, they lit their cigarette and then tossed the lighter onto the balcony’s table, letting it clatter loudly as they reclined into the wicker bench. “Sure you want to know? It’s not a terribly happy story.”

            He eyed them, considering. “You were using actual tobacco cigarettes before. You said it killed your grandfather.” They had had _that_ conversation only a month ago and he still looked wary each time they lit up a smoke.

            “It did,” they nodded. “Lung cancer. It’s uh-” Belatedly, they realized that he definitely would know _what_ cancer was—monsters didn’t get sick, but they did have access to human media long before the Barrier came down. “It’s a nasty way to go,” they finished.

            He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll take your word for it. So, if it’s that bad and you have a predisposition to it, why start smoking?”

            There was no good way to weasel out of that. With a sigh, they shrugged. “Remember when I ran away from home when I was younger?”

            “Christ, you really didn’t have adult supervision, did you?”

            They snorted and chuckled, their laughter slowly turning wry as they went on until at last they sighed. “Uh, yeah. I was trying and doing a lot of stuff. I tried some great, interesting things, but I also did some real dumb shit and some that got me in to varying amounts of trouble. Smoking was one of those things.”

            He shook his head. “What, did you have some sort of a death wish?”

            Their lack of an immediate answer was pretty damning. Finally, they sighed. “Well. I wasn’t exactly in a good headspace at the time.” They shrugged. “I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind.” When they saw the grim look on his face that he failed to hide entirely, they reached out and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Hey, it’s okay. I survived back then. Got a little help afterwards. And I’m not going anywhere now. So, no need to panic.”

            He didn’t look terribly relieved, but he let them tug him across the bench to rest against their side. “You were still smoking those things until a few weeks ago though.”

            “Okay, don’t read into that _too_ much. The cigarettes helped me mellow out some, that’s all. It’s not like I was completely attached to the things either.” They paused to think it over. “Actually, I smoke way more _now_ than I did back then. Funny.” When he didn’t look any happier, they patted his arm. “You know, if I’m being honest, there is another reason. I think the real reason it calmed me down, more than anything in the actual cigarettes themselves, was the smell.”

            “The smell?” he repeated, confused.

            “Yeah, the—oh. You can’t really smell it, huh?”

            He considered the question. “Not really. Perhaps a little bit, if I get a face full, but what does that have to do with it?”

            Frisk’s lips twitched. “It’s a human biology thing. Smell is tied to our memories. It can trigger feelings or memories. It’s a survival tactic, but it can also make us nostalgic when we smell something familiar from our past. Like, whenever I smell cigarette smoke, it makes me think of my grandfather.” They looked down at their cigarette before taking a drag off it. “It’s just comforting.”

            Sans grunted. “Sounds fake, but okay.”

            That startled a laugh out of Frisk, which sent them into a giggling fit that made them flop against him for support and eventually made him start chuckling over their sheer amusement. Once they’d settled down, they realized their cigarette was mostly gone. They used up their cigarette before crushing the butt into the ashtray and then dug out another cigarette. As they got one out and began looking for their lighter, they started to speak again. “Alright, now I have a question for you.”

            “Shoot.”

            “Why did _you_ start smoking?” _Where is the goddamn lighter? I just tossed it on here._ They were so busy, they didn’t notice that he didn’t immediately answer. They had searched most of the table before they realized and turned to look at him. They saw that he was staring at his own lighter, turning it over in between the fingers of one hand.

            Perhaps he noticed their attention as he instantly offered them his lighter. “It’s not much of a story. I saw people smoking when I was smaller, thought it looked neat, and decided I wanted to do it too.”

            Frisk snorted and got their cigarette lit. Before they handed the lighter back, they looked down at it. It was a very nice and surprisingly elegant in its simplicity—black metal casing with silver inlays. The flames when they pressed the button were always a bright, entrancing shade of blue. They had thought momentarily about getting him a new lighter for Christmas before they really looked at this lighter and realized it was both too nice and too important to just replace. Or at least they figured it was important; he always had it on hand, even if it did give him trouble from time to time. “You know, generally adults try to discourage kids from picking up their bad habits,” they chuckled, handing him the lighter back.

            “Eh, most of them were socially awkward nerds or people who just didn’t give a shit about some random kid who constantly came to prod their work and ruin their experiments.” He took the lighter back with a grin as they started giggling again. Still, instead of immediately putting the lighter away, he kept it out in his hands and looked down at it.

            They shot it a curious glance; just was so mesmerizing about it? “So, what, you saw some random adults who didn’t even like you that much do it and _that_ made you want to do it?”

            He chuckled, his phalanges curling around the lighter, almost protectively. “Well. The old man also smoked. He smoked a lot.” He slipped the lighter back into his pocket. “He said he did his best thinking with a cigarette between his teeth.”

            Gazing at him, Frisk’s breath caught in their throat and they had a sudden thought. He’d been looking at it so intensely, like the answers he was looking for were hiding in between the lines of the inlays.

            What if the lighter had been Gaster’s?

            They opened their mouths to ask, but paused and shut it again. _No,_ they decided, closing their eyes and laying their head against his shoulder. _I’ve dragged up enough memories of that man. I don’t want to spend any more time thinking of him today._

 

 

 

 

            That was the last they spoke of Gaster for months. School started for Asriel and Chara, they all got caught up in the preparations for the Liberation Day celebrations, and just before then it was Frisk’s birthday, then it was one holiday after the other until it was late January. It seemed that for the first time in weeks, everyone was finally really winding down from the hustle and bustle of the last few months. But then, one day, Frisk and Asriel woke up to find Papyrus rather quiet even if it was early in the morning. After Frisk waved goodbye to the two, Sans came down and Frisk found him just as quiet as his brother. For a moment, they wondered if the two of them had another fight, but Sans didn’t seem jittery like he normally did after a fight.

            Sans’s quiet mood continued for the rest of the day; when gentle nudging at him failed to get him to cheer up, they let him sleep through all their meetings. Most of the people they had to meet had met them before, so no one thought much the monster ambassador’s lazy assistant sleeping through the meetings. He didn’t have much of an appetite at lunch, nor did he seem interested when they mused about getting dinner to go that night.

            When they got home, Frisk watched to see if the brothers would show signs at snapping at each other, but there was no hostility or tension. Just quiet disinterest, like ghosts wandering the same halls but unaware of each other.

            “It’s really weird,” Asriel confided in them when they pulled him aside to ask  him what he thought about it.

            Frisk grimaced as they looked up at the two brothers; Papyrus was puttering around the kitchen with none of his usual gusto, while Sans seemed to be trying to melt between the seat cushions of the recliner. “Yeah,” they muttered, leaning back. “And Papyrus didn’t mention what was up?”

            “No, he’s hardly talked at all today. I mean, he said _something_ about it having to do with today being _today_? I didn’t really understand, but he looked so… well, like _that_ that I couldn’t make myself ask more about it.” He leaned heavily into their side and sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”

            They patted his shoulder and leaned down to press a kiss to his brow. “Maybe it’s something that will pass soon then. Let’s not worry about if for now, okay?”

            He nodded reluctantly.

            By the next morning, they would realize his hesitance hadn’t been unfounded. As the night drew on, the two brothers became antsy-er, but rather than fight with each other, they just remained out of sorts. Papyrus didn’t argue when they suggested ordering dinner out, and once they were done eating, Sans said something about going to Grillby’s but didn’t bother to stay long enough to hear if they wanted to come with him or not. Frisk frowned as he vanished from sight, but decided not to fret about it right then. As the hours dragged on, however, worry did set in. They tried calling his phone a few times, but he didn’t answer. In the end, they couldn’t justify storming down there to go get him without looking overprotective or controlling, so they decided to just call Grillby himself and see if Sans was still there.

            He didn’t answer the phone for so long that Frisk almost hung up, but at the last moment they heard the ring cut off mid tone and a raspy, crackling, but soft voice spoke. _“Hi, Grillby’s Bar.”_

            Frisk’s shoulders slumped as they tried not to sigh in relief. “Hello, Fukufire.”

_“Oh! It’s the ambassador! Evening, Frisk.”_

            “Good evening to you, too. Sorry to bother you, but is Sans there at the bar right now?”

            There was a pause and then Fukufire returned. _“Yeah, I can see him sitting at the bar from here.”_

            Well, at least they knew where he was. “Can I ask a favor? Can you ask him if he has his cell phone on him? I’ve been trying to get a hold of him.”

            There was another pause. _“It’s sitting in front of him.”_

            Frisk frowned. “It is?”

            _“Yeah. But I haven’t heard any cell ringing.”_ There was an obnoxiously loud snap; Fukufire must have popped a bubblegum bubble directly into the receiver. _“Want me to yell at him for you to call you back?”_

            Frisk pinched the bridge of their nose. “Well, no need to scold really, but can you go ask him to turn it back on for me? I’d appreciate it.”

            _“Oh- **kay**.”_

            They opened their mouth to say goodbye, but paused at the last moment. “He doesn’t, um, look like he’s had one too many to drink, has he?”

            _“Who, Sans?”_ She paused, probably enjoying the excuse to scope him out—Frisk had been amused to learn that Fukufire seemed to carry a torch for many older men, but it’d only gotten funnier when they learned she had a giant crush on Sans. Sans didn’t share their amusement about it. _“Eh, he’s been real quiet all night. Like,_ **_super_** _quiet. Daddy cut him off a bit ago, but since he’s not causing trouble, daddy hasn’t tossed him out yet.”_

Well, there was another good thing—at least he was staying out of trouble. “Okay, well, if he becomes a problem, call me. I’ll come fetch him.”

_“Alright! Look, it’s been nice talking to you and all, but I can see Squydia is about to murder one of our patrons and I gotta stop her before daddy kills her.”_

            Frisk blinked. “Got it. Good luck stopping your friend.”

            _“Good night!”_

            After hanging up, Frisk resigned themselves to the fact that he was probably just being a mysterious nuisance and went to bed. He’d probably call them at four in the morning, needing to be let in, and then they could scold him.

            The next morning however, it wasn’t Sans who called them, but Fukufire again. They noted with some dread that not only was Sans’ side of the bed empty, it was also cold as they turned over to grab their phone from their bedside table. They grimaced at the time—Papyrus wouldn’t even be awake for another hour. “Hello?” they managed, drowsily.

            _“Um, morning, Frisk. This is Fukufire.”_

            Frisk blinked slowly as their brain woke up. “Oh. Good morning. Can I help you?”

            _“Yeah. Um. Look, so, me and Squydia were doing lock up last night and we, uh, forgot to check all the stalls in the men’s bathroom. And it, well, turns out that Sans kinda slept here all night?”_

            Frisk closed their eyes and had to force themselves not to either curse or groan. “Is he okay?”

            _“Oh, yeah, he’s fine! It’s just, um. Well, neither me nor daddy told Squydia to cut Sans off last night, so she kept serving him and now he’s very, very… hung over.”_

            Frisk smacked a hand to their forehead and winced at both the loud sound it made and the pain it caused them. _Ugh_. “Okay,” they began, trying to ignore the pain in their forehead and get their brain to wake up faster. “Okay, just. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll come get him, okay?”

            Fukufire sounded damningly relieved. _“Okay! Yeah, that’d be great. We’ll try to get him back out front.”_

            “Get him to drink some coffee while you’re at it,” they said as they sat up and then paused. “Actually, if you could try to get some food into him to, that would be great. And whatever you do, don’t let him have any more liquor.”

            _“We can do that! See you soon.”_

            “Bye,” Frisk managed to hold back their sigh until they made sure the call was over. Taking a deep breath, they forced themselves to get up. “Fuck, I should have asked her to get a cup of coffee ready for me too,” they grumbled as they stretched and yawned.

            Somehow, they managed to get themselves dressed and out the door while running on two hours sleep and no coffee. They didn’t trust themselves on their motorcycle, so they swiped Papyrus’s car keys and prayed he’d accept the fact they needed it to go fetch his brother as a decent excuse. Traffic was dead in the streets at least—all the partygoers and bar hoppers had already packed it in and only a few souls were heading to work right then.

            They allowed themselves a sigh of relief that swiftly turned into one of irritation as they finally pulled into the parking lot outside of Grillby’s bar. Despite the bar being closed, there were still a few cars in the lot. One car clearly had a person sleeping in the backseat, so Frisk tried not to slam their car door as they got out and headed inside.

            They had to knock at the door to be let in; Fukufire unlocked it for them, trying to look friendly as she shuffled around. “Uh, hi, Frisk. Thanks for coming so fast.”

            Frisk blinked sleepily at her. “Thank you for calling me. Where is he?”

            She pointed at the bar, looking sheepish.

            Miraculously, Sans had managed to haul himself up onto one of the tall stools at the bar—or perhaps someone had shoved him up there. He laid half across the bar, looking like he’d just flopped there, giving more credence to the idea that someone had tossed him there. There was a cup of coffee next to his head, as well as a half full plate of French fries.

            On the other side of the bard, Squydia stood. When she saw her friend and the ambassador walking towards her and Sans, she managed an awkward wave, but when Frisk finally reached her, she was shifting around nervously.

            “So,” Frisk began, starting to reach for Sans and leaning in. “How’s our boy do—phew!” They reeled back, startled by the reek of booze coming off Sans. He smelled as if he bathed in beer, which probably meant someone had spilled it on him because Sans didn’t even like beer. “Did he fall asleep in a puddle of beer or something?”

            Squydia winced again, but Fukufire cleared her throat. “He kinda got into an argument with another customer—don’t worry! Daddy made sure the fight didn’t go far! But, um. He got a mug of beer dumped on him.”

            Frisk winced and rubbed their hands against their face; Papyrus was going to be furious if his car smelled like beer after this. “ _Guuuuh_ well. Did he at least eat something?”

            “Yeah, a little bit. Then, um, he fell back asleep.”

            Something finally snapped for Squydia. As Frisk shook their head, she suddenly shouted making Frisk jump and Sans snort in his sleep. “I am _so_ sorry, this is all my fault! I didn’t know he got cut off, so I just kept giving him drinks like an idiot! I am so _, so_ sorry about this, Frisk, you _gotta_ believe me.”

            Blinking up at her, Frisk forced themselves not to sigh and managed a smile. “I do believe you.” Frisk allowed the girls a moment to enjoy the relief before they cleared their throat. “Now, that doesn’t make what happened okay.” Before they girls could tense up too much, they went on. “Sans is a monster, so he can absorb the alcohol just fine, but a human can get alcohol poisoning if they have too much which is an important reason to make sure once someone’s cut off that they stay that way. If a human got sick here, that’d be a big headache for you guys _and_ me. So, girls, I’m going to need you to do me a favor and promise me that you’ll do your best to make sure this doesn’t happen again, okay?”

            “Yes, ambassador,” they both said instantly, eagerly latching on to the light punishment.

            “I’ll do better from now on, promise,” Squydia added, looking lighter than ever.

            With a nod, Frisk glanced down at Sans and took a deep breath. “Okay. So.” They paused, glancing past him. “Is there anymore of that coffee left?”

            “Yeah, the rest of the pot is over here,” Squydia announced helpfully.

            “Great. Get me a cup and then can one of you show me Sans’ tab? Might as well see the rest of the damage.”

            The two girls scurried to obey, both of them acting much more chipper now that they were more or less off the hook. Fukufire handed over the tablet with the tab. Frisk paid for it (after a long series of internal winces) while Squydia handed over the cup of coffee.

            After polishing off the coffee and feeling slightly more alive, Frisk said their goodbyes to both girls and turned to Sans. “Come on, lazy bones,” they began, shaking his shoulders. “Time to get—whoa!”

            Sans nearly slid off the stool.

            Frisk cursed while the girls either gasped or groaned, but the human barely managed to catch him in time. After a small sigh of relief, they glanced to the girls. “If you girls would be so kind, could I ask one of you to come help me get him on my back while the other one gets the door for me?”

            Squydia helped Frisk pull Sans onto their back while Fukufire opened the door. With a final goodbye, Frisk started the suddenly much harder trek back to the car. Sans was dead weight on their back and they cursed every step of the way as he kept sliding down. They almost dropped him trying to open the door. They wished it was summer so they could just put the top down and dump in straight into the backseat. Instead, they eventually managed to shove him back there before climbing into the front.

            They paused for a moment, still grumbling curses until they finally looked over their shoulder to see him snoring away in the backseat. “When we get home,” they told the sleeping body, “you owe me some fucking answers and I don’t care how hung over or awkward you are about it.”

            After what felt like ages, they got him home. Thankfully, the lights were still out in the house, so they had a good chance that Papyrus was still asleep. So, that just left getting Sans into the house without drawing too much attention. They were tempted to half strip him—with some of his layers off, his magical aura would spread out and he’d actually weigh less (not that they’d figured out how that worked yet, but it _somehow_ did). While that would be a hell of a lot easier on them, it’d be _really_ awkward if they got caught either stripping him down or lugging around a half naked Sans through the house. Resigning themselves to dragging him through the house, they got out of the car and then walked around. They’d just gotten the car door open and pulled him half out of the back when the kitchen door opened.

            _Busted,_ Frisk thought with a wince before they turned and looked over their shoulder.

            Standing in the doorway into the kitchen, Papyrus glared out at them. “So,” he began, voice terse, “I see you borrowed my car without asking.”

            “Yes, you’re completely correct,” they answered, bluntly. When it came to Papyrus, it was better to own up to the wrongdoing rather than dodge blame, especially when he’d caught them red handed. “I was afraid to bring him back on my bike in case he fell off.”

            “Tch,” Papyrus huffed, closing his eye sockets before straightening and walking out into the garage to join them. “Well, you probably weren’t wrong in worrying.” He looked down at his brother and paused. “Look at you. I should have known I was being too optimistic in hoping you’d get your stuff together for once.”

            “That’s not fair,” Frisk tried, voice mild. “He has been doing better lately.”

            He shot them a flat look. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He looked back to his brother, his shoulders slumping, but not out of relief. “He did so much better last January.” He sighed and lifted a hand; it glowed blue and Frisk felt Sans’ body lift up out of their arms. He tugged his brother out of the car. Once he could look into his sleeping brother’s face, he shook his head. “I suppose it was because of how _busy_ we were last year, but…”

            Frisk frowned up at him, wondering when he’d stopped talking to them and instead to just nobody. “Papyrus,” they called gently, startling him into looking at them. “We should get him to bed.”

            Flustered, he nodded. “Right. Let’s go.”

            Papyrus walked through the house, floating his brother along, while Frisk followed silently behind, carrying Sans’ coat. Once the two of them got him into Frisk and his room, Frisk helped him lower Sans onto the bed. He took a step back so they could pull off Sans’ shoes and then tucked him into bed.

            As they were pulling the covers up, they looked up in time to see Papyrus start to step out the door. “Papyrus,” they called, voice soft so they wouldn’t wake up the kids across the hall. When he paused to look back at them, they reached into their pants pocket and pulled out the car keys. They held them up so he could see.

            His eye sockets widened and he sheepishly turned back to get the keys from them as they walked around the bed.

            “Sorry for taking it without asking,” they murmured, handing him the keys.

            He nodded. “I can’t say I’m happy, but thank you for collecting my brother. I know what a pain he can be about this, especially-” He paused, jaw clenching.

            When he turned to leave suddenly, Frisk reached out and caught his arm. “Papyrus,” they began, waiting until he looked back before speaking again. “Is there something I need to know about why this happened? About why this apparently happens every year?” When he grimaced, they waited, patient. “I assume it has something to do with why you’ve both been acting so quiet lately.”

            He flinched and fell quiet. Finally, he reached up and gently pulled their hand off his arm. “I’m sorry if,” he paused, his voice the softest they’d ever heard it—he never even whispered that quietly before. “If I came off as… unreliable recently.” Before they could correct him, he closed his eyes, looking pinched around his eye sockets. “Yesterday was the anniversary of our brother’s death.”

            Frisk went stock still.

            He opened his eyes, but never looked at them. “I… need to go get the princes’ lunch ready. Excuse me.”

            Frisk let him go. After a long stretch of silence, they began to undress to get back into their nightclothes and then grabbed their phone. After making a few calls, claiming a family emergency, they cleared their schedule for the day. Once that was done, they climbed into bed and rolled over to look at Sans, who was still dead to the world. Just how much did he have to drink last night? Surely enough to hurt a human to be this out of it. Enough to qualify for a serious scolding for breaking his promise not to overdo it without them around to look out for him, but this seemed bigger than that.

            Sleep didn’t come for them, so they stayed like that until they heard Papyrus wake up Asriel and then the two leaving later on. They waited still for another two hours before Sans finally shifted around and woke up with a groan. By then, they’d gone from laying down to sitting up, some papers in their lap that they’d been reading, to try and at least get some work done for the day.

            Once they finally heard him move and groan, they looked at him before setting their papers aside. “Morning,” they offered, watching as he stared blearily in confusion. “How are you feeling?”

            “Like someone smacked me across the face with a baseball bat,” he grumbled, reaching up to rub his head tenderly. “Ugh, what the fuck happened to me last night.”

            “You went to Grillby’s and got drunk. _Very_ drunk.”

            He paused and then winced. “Um. I don’t remember.”

            They resisted the urge to stare at him, deadpan. “Trust me. I had to go fetch you at five in the morning. With Papyrus’ car.”

            He winced again, even harder. “He let you take the car?”

            “I borrowed it without asking. Don’t worry though. He said he understood as he helped me get you up into bed.”

            “Oh fuck,” he groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “First I break my promise to you, then I get caught by Papyrus.” He stared up at the ceiling, looking sick. “I gotta quit drinking.”

            “If this is going to turn into a reoccurring thing, then yes. I’d say you have a problem if you don’t try slowing down.” They regarded him for a moment before reaching out to brush their knuckles against his cheekbone. Without their prompting, he reached up pressed the back of their hand into his cheekbone, shutting his eyes for a moment. “Papyrus explained that yesterday was the anniversary of your brother’s death.”

            They felt the flinch under their hand as if they’d struck him with it. Slowly, he curled up onto his side, facing them, drawing their hand up higher as if to block his face more. It felt like he was using it as a shield, and the thought made their heart sting even as they smiled.

            “Do you want to talk about it?”

            The question was almost rhetorical at this point. In the silence that followed afterwards though, they found themselves waiting in anticipation as he considered it. Finally, he looked up at them, expression only half guarded.

 

 

 

 

            Sans proposed the experiment. Sure, it was based on plans for a machine that Gaster had once, blue prints half considered before shelving, but it was him who found them, who brainstormed over them, him who finished them.

            It was him who was placed in charge of the project, of the construction and planning. He stood proud, the honor of Gaster’s faith in him making him really grin as he watched the others help him finish his project.

            So, in the end, it was all his fault too.

            Sans’s major interests had always come back to two things; the study of time and the study of space. More importantly the physics of them and the study into how to bend both to your will. Time was rather impossible to manipulate, but space? That was far easier to fuck around with. When he was a child, he had found Gaster’s discarded designs and kept them, admiring them even if he couldn’t entirely grasp them.

            When he was twenty, he pulled the designs back out and started to really study them again. It took two years, but he finally figured out what was needed to make the machine work. When he showed it to his brother, his bones nearly rattling with excitedly nervous energy and four shots of espresso, he had to stop himself from constantly pointing at the papers and charts, showing off the math and the changes he’d made to the schematics.

            Finally, Gaster sat the papers down, tapping the edges until they were tidy—he was so maddeningly particular about things being tidy, even Papyrus thought it was a bit much. Sans had to physically clamp his hands together behind his back to keep from wrinkling his lab coat by grabbing it. “Sans. When I first handed you these notes, I had expected you to get rid of them for me,” he began, voice drawling as he shifted in his chair. However, when his gaze finally landed on his brother, he smirked. “I’m starting to think you’re obstinate on purpose.”

            The bottom of his left eye socket twitched as did his smile. “If I am, it’s your fault.”

            Gaster snorted, but didn’t deny it either.

            Finally, Sans unfolded his arms to put them against his hips. “Oh, stop being an asshole already and tell me what you think! Does it sound okay or not?”

            Closing his eyes—no doubt to hide the fact he was rolling them at Sans—he reached out and tapped the papers. “Despite the fact that these calculations probably diverted your attention from more important things, the numbers and theories are sound. I have no reason to complain about them.” He opened his eyes to find Sans gawking at him. Huffing an amused sigh, Gaster allowed himself a smile. “Congratulations are in order.”

            Sans straightened up a little taller. “Congratulations?”

            “Mm. For finishing a puzzle I could not.” While his brother reeled from that, Gaster reached out and patted his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll see about getting you an interview with Asgore to present the idea to him. More funding will be necessary to put this in action.”

            Sans wished suddenly that they were more of a hugging family. Instead, though, Sans just grinned wider.

            It would take months of preparations and back breaking construction. They had to build a new lab in Waterfall just to house the machines necessary for it to work. The machine _had_ to be big because if it worked, they would need a gateway big enough for monsters to escape en masse. The war would begin immediately once they were through, but Sans, Gaster, or the rest of the scientists didn’t care about that really. This could very well be the moment that monsters escape the Underground.

            And if it didn’t work, well there was always the blue prints and the wonky prototype to go back to. But it would. Even Gaster agreed, _the numbers were sound._

            They were. They _had_ to be.

            (And that was the damning thing—Sans was still almost entirely sure they _were_ correct. But he could never be entirely sure and it would eat him inside until he retreated into a husk of his former self before Papyrus broke back into his life and dragged him back out.)

            The day of the experiment’s first test run had the entire lab sizzling with energy. Even if the project had become Sans’ baby, the other scientists were eager to help, happy to latch onto hope whenever it presented itself. Everyone was running about, crunching numbers, double checking everything, and tripping over each other as they went.

            Sans grinned manically as he went over his own calculations one more time. He remembered later pausing for a moment to wish Alphys could have assisted them today—she had teaching duty that semester. He would have loved to have her around then to mercilessly rub it into her face that it was _his_ project that had everyone excited. She was always the most fun to tease, being so easy to fluster.

            He snorted to himself, shaking his head at his distraction, and turned back to look over his notes when a loud voice startled him.

            “So, what exactly _is_ all this?” Papyrus asked him, putting his hands on his hips as he regarded the great machine before him.

            Sans’s jaw fell open. “Pa…pyrus?”

            His younger brother raised an eyebrow ridge at him. “Yes?”

            He didn’t answer for a moment; finally, he found his voice. “What are you _doing_ here?”

            Papyrus scowled, but it was Gaster’s voice that cut in. He walked over to them, forcing a few of the other scientists to hop out of his way—the first rule of etiquette when it came to Gaster was to stay out of his way as much as possible. “I invited him. You’re surprisingly late, Papyrus.”

            Papyrus scratched the back of his skull, flustered. “Unfortunately, there was some business I had to take care of in Snowdin.”

            “Never mind that for now. Come, I can’t have you standing in the way here. We’ll talk more after the test.”

            Sans heard Papyrus repeat his first question as their older brother shepherded him to a spot near the wall where no one would run into him. Once that was done, Gaster returned to Sans briefly.

            “Last checks. How’s the readouts?” Gaster asked, looking over his shoulder.

            _Even now, he’s looming over me,_ Sans thought wryly as he inspected the computer before him. “What’s Papyrus _really_ doing here?”

            Gaster gave him a flat, almost innocent look. “Because despite you two’s little tiff, I expect you two to at least put some effort into your relationship, which means being there for certain life achievements. I expect you to be there when he’s welcomed into the Royal Guard.”

            Sans’s brow knit together as he gazed up at his elder brother. “Uh, you really think he’ll get in?”

            The elder skeleton straightened up. “Do you expect anything less from our brother?”

            Sans closed his eyes, torn between the urge to roll them and to just sigh. “Heh. If you say so, old man.”

            Gaster shot him a withering look. “When you’re on the clock, I expect more respect than that.”

            “Okay, doc,” Sans shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Anyway. We’re all green here.”

            “Well then, that means it’s time. Get ready once I give my mark.” Gaster walked past him, heading to the center of the room, calling for attention. While the other scientists and assistants listened to their instructions, Sans’ gaze slid away from the group until it landed on Papyrus.

            He found his younger brother gazing up at the machine appreciatively—Gaster must have explained some of what it was for. For a moment, gazing at his brother who was looking at his creation with something like wonder, Sans felt something twitch in his soul. For a moment, it was like looking through the years, to see a younger, innocent Papyrus again.

            _Huh_ , he thought, glancing back to his machine. Maybe he’d ask Papyrus out for drinks afterward. His little brother probably wouldn’t drink, but he also probably wouldn’t turn him down if Gaster agreed to go as well.

            _Heh. Look at me being all domestic and shit,_ he thought.

            The experiment began and the lab became a symphony of action and data gathering. Scientists and assistants either staffed their stations, reading the data, or ran between stations, relaying new data, checking different screens, or starting the next phase of the experiment. Sans felt like the composer of this organized madness, even as he played his own role. Papyrus’s role was suddenly clear to him now—after all, what good was a symphony without an audience to witness it? And in the middle of the chaos, Gaster called out instructions and made snap decisions, just like the conductor. The data poured in and the machine hummed into life, power amassing inside as the piece swelled to a crescendo.

            And then, like a sour note, a tiny alarm went off. In all the chaos, it was easily missed.

            The next one, however, was not. One of the assistants, a monster that was more head and arms than body, warned them that they’d received a strange feedback message coming from the CORE. Everyone paused for a moment, frozen in shock and unease; Gaster clenched his jaw, but before he could even speak, six new alarms started to blare.

            Sans remembered that for one distinct moment before the world went to hell, he felt a moment of irritation—after all, it _would_ be his luck to fail in front of not one brother, but both. The moment after that, however, such petty concerns went out the window.

            The lab devolved into a cacophony of shouting, alarms blaring, and below it all the steadily growing, foreboding hum of the machines. Someone shouted that something was definitely happening in the CORE. A power surge? No one could tell.

            That was when the first fire ignited—one of the machines that was running tests overheated and burst into flame. Papyrus, who’d been at a loss to help, had plenty of experience accidentally making fires in the lab so he knew what to do; he grabbed a fire extinguisher and ran to put it out.

            While one brother put out the fire and the other shouted orders, Sans was distracted for a moment. On top of the computer’s monitor, a tiny thumbtack rattled; oddly, that was what he focused in on. One moment, it was still and silent, the next it rattled on top of the monitor. He looked up in time to see it skitter to the edge of the monitor and then roll off. Instead of falling to the floor directly behind the monitor though, it flew three feet behind it and kept skipping across the floor like a stone on a lake’s surface. It jumped all the way past Gaster, who also noticed it, and three assistants and then took flight and flew through the air, straight into the gateway.

            It did not fall back down once it went through. Nor did any of the papers that flew off desks that were also swept by some unseen force into the gateway. Inside the frame of the gateway, shadows shifted and blurred, like wet ink being smudged by a careless hand.

            _Well,_ Sans thought for a moment, _looks like the gateway **did** work._

            That was when the monster nearest the gateway shrieked as their chair began to roll towards the gateway on its own volition. They dove out of the chair, but they took an oddly long time to fall to the ground.

            That was when pandemonium hit. A few of the monsters with the strongest survival instincts abandoned their compatriots and fled the lab. Braver monsters, however, stayed and tried to obey Gaster’s commands to shut the machine down.

            Like a boulder rolling down a hill, however, the machine kept amassing power and its pull to the gateway got stronger.

            In the chaos, one of the assistants, a feisty Whimsum who Sans remembered for her mean cup of coffee, lost against the tug of the machine’s pull and was yanked, screaming, towards the gateway. Blue magic caught her at the last moment; Papyrus had managed to catch her. He reeled her in with his magic and told her to evacuate before shoving her out of the room.

            While he saved one assistant though, another small monster was yanked off his feet and dragged towards the portal.

            No one caught him in time; he slipped into the gateway’s shifting center and was gone.

            That was when sheer terror overtook them; a few more tried to abandon their consoles, but one was snatched by the gravity of the machine and pulled back before they even had a chance to scream.

            There was other screaming though, shrieks of horror as monsters fled, the alarms roaring as the machines shorted out and exploded. And yet, in his memory, Sans could still see Gaster, standing in the center of the room, trying to organize the escape of the others and the termination of the experiment, even as he had to clutch at a machine to keep himself upright.

            Sans had been too distracted looking at his brother, too deep into his own horror, to even notice as the console under his hands grew hot. After all, he hardly noticed heat in the first place. He did, however, notice when the console exploded in his face, bursting into flames. He got one startled shout as he staggered backwards. His feet slipped and he started to fall to the side; but he never hit the ground.

            He, too, felt a pull to the machine. And then his body started to drift that way on its own accord.

            He’d gotten halfway to it when magic as powerfully familiar as a lullaby after a nightmare caught him. He looked up in time to see Gaster’s shaking hand glow blue while his irises burned like red lanterns in his eye sockets. For a moment, their gazes locked and Sans was almost relieved.

            Then Gaster gritted his teeth and hurled his arm around, sending Sans flying towards the lab’s exit. He crashed bodily into Papyrus, who caught him with a muffled ‘oof’ as they fell backwards into the opposite wall of the hall. And then, before either could pick themselves back up, Gaster reached for the console of the machine he clutched.

            Sans could still remember as Gaster smashed a button on it, the violence of the blow breaking the face of the machine. Then a metal door slammed down directly in front of the brothers, sealing the lab off from the hall.

            If Papyrus had physical vocal chords, the scream that tore out of his mouth would have shredded them. “Wing!” he shrieked slamming his hands helplessly against the containment door. “Brother! Open the door!”

            Sans was on his feet and smacking against the door as well, but inside the lab, the roar only grew louder. Afterwards, he would wonder if not being able to see Gaster’s final moments was blessing or a curse; had their brother been scared or brave in his last moments? Had he trembled before the pull yanked him into the gateway, or had he squared his shoulders and met it head on?

            He would never know.

            They both banged their fists against the door, screaming, but paused when the door began to groan. When the walls around the door began to moan as well, Sans took a step back. _It’s tearing the walls apart,_ he thought, feeling a chill steal into his marrow. _It’s not going to stop until it tears the whole facility apart or the connection to the Core breaks and_

            Sans froze. “We got to get outside.”

            Papyrus recovered enough to gawk at his brother in outraged horror. “We are _not_ leaving him in there!”

            He longed to reach out and shake sense into his younger brother; instead, he just grabbed Papyrus by the uniform’s shirt. “We got to destroy the power transformer outside the facility and break the connection to the CORE. If we kill the power, it’ll pull the plug on the-”

            The walls in front of them groaned on last time; they had time only to turn and stare in horror as the wall to the left of the door gave up the fight and buckled inward. The pull from the other side tore a jagged chunk free from the wall. On the other side of the wall, darkness yawned, deeper than the abyss below Waterfall.

            _(PHOTON READINGS NEGATIVE.)_

            Papyrus took a step back, nearly stepping into him, but Sans hardly noticed. Insides the darkness, something swirled.

            _(THIS NEXT EXPERIMENT)_

            Was it a figure? Movement? His hopeful eyes playing tricks on him?

            _(SEEMS)_

            As he pulled his gaze from the darkness beyond the walls, he could still see something in the air as he turned. Strange flashes of lights, like tiny light bulbs exploded as they overloaded. He turned still, until he was facing away from the door. And yet, the distortion in the air followed, making the space around them look strange and blurred as the gateway’s middle had been. Looking at the flashes, it reminded him, oddly enough, of looking through a beaded curtain into a room on the other side. Gazing past the flashes, he looked and stared when he could see the crystal studded walls of Waterfall outside the facility. He blinked, uncomprehending.

_(VERY)_

            The world around them groaned as reality tore at the seams, but he could still hear Papyrus’s gasp as the first tendrils of the pull reached for them. Soon, it would pull both of them in as well.

_(VERY)_

            Clenching his jaw, Sans grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled as he pushed his way through the flashes.

_(INTERESTING)_

            There was supposed to be a wall here, he knew it should be, and yet nothing stopped him as he forced his way through the layers of flashing lights. As he pushed his way through, the flashes changed—instead of being lights, he could see letters and numbers, things that made no sense. Fun values, room numbers, kill counts? He ignored them all and focused instead on tugging his brother along.

            And then, they were out. Sans stumbled and fell to his knees, nearly yanking Papyrus down with him.

            Sans blinked and stared down at his hand, which was buried now in the cold dirt of Waterfall. He lifted it and ground his fingertips together, watching as the sticky sand rubbed off his digits. _We got out,_ he thought, baffled. _We walked through at least six walls of metal and pipes and who knows what else in less than a second. How-?_

            There was no time to think; Papyrus suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to turn and look up at him. “Sans! Where is the power transformer? How do I shut it off?!”

            Sans blinked but then shoved Papyrus out of his way as he scrambled up and took off running around the side of the building. He staggered and almost ate dirt as he turned the corner, but he managed to keep himself upright. Behind him, he could hear Papyrus racing after him. Rather than waste time, he summoned a blaster and aimed it at the large structure towards the back of the facility that housed the power transformers.

            The facility’s outer walls began to groan like the ones inside had; there was little time before the facility was sucked in on itself.

            As he charged a blast, he felt Papyrus grab his free hand; magic flowed through the physical connection. At any other moment, he might have been caught off guard to combine magic with his brother, something they hadn’t done in nearly ten years. Instead, he let Papyrus’ magic reshape the blaster until it was twice the size it had been before. Without a word, they released the blast together and red light flashed like a bolt of lightning, brightening all of Waterfall for a brief moment. Then the power transformer exploded in a ball of flame and magic, smacking them off their feet.

            Sans laid there for a moment and coughed. Every inch of him protested as he sat up, but he had to look around. Papyrus picked himself up off the ground, rising cautiously as they looked up at the building.

            For a moment, it was silent.

            “Is it over?” Papyrus asked after a moment. “Did we shut it off in time?”

            Then the building _shrieked._

            Metal tore like tissue paper, rising up into the air; pipes, tables, computers, doors floated high in the air above them as the labs’ outer walls ripped themselves apart. Then everything flooded inward, like water going down a drain. Sans yelped in shock as the powerful pull yanked everything inside.

            The last thing to disappear was a gray, wooden door; it had been a door for a utility closet in the second floor. The door floated for a moment before it surged towards the black point nestled near the wall. Before it was sucked in, the door slammed into the wall and looked almost like it was _supposed_ to be there. Then it too was pulled in.

            And then, it all abruptly stopped.

            Various detritus fell to the earth around them, nothing bigger than a paperclip. Shredded paper, a few loose screws, and a candy wrapper were all that was left of the lab; all that work reduced to so little trash. Perhaps most damningly of all, there was no sign of monster dust anywhere. While there were more than a few funerals these days with no dust to present, Sans wasn’t even sure who was

            _(Their brother, standing for as long as he could in the middle of the lab, slamming the button for the containment door. He could still remember the grip of blue magic on him as Gaster threw him to safety. Their brother is)_

            Missing.

            Sans took a shuddering breath.

            Missing. Yes—there was no bodies here. They couldn’t just run around alarming everyone and their families. Because they didn’t know if

_(Gaster)_

            Everyone was just misplaced. They could be, couldn’t they? They had to be.

            They had to be.

            _(Their brother is-)_

_(WHAT DO YOU TWO THINK?)_

 

 

 

 

            Frisk paused, waiting for the story to continue, but Sans didn’t speak. During the telling, he’d half crawled while they half pulled him until he sprawled across their lap. He hadn’t fallen asleep—they could tell from how tense his back was as they rubbed one of their hands across it. When his body refused to relax, they frowned. _He’s probably got himself all twisted up in some dark thoughts. Well, there’s no way I’m leaving him to stew with them._ “What happened after that?”

            He twitched, but they felt his back start to relax as he began to speak again. “The scientists who had fled came back shortly after the explosion. They tried to ask us what happened, but when we told them, they got confused. They kept insisting that they hadn’t been there for the experiment, but they also couldn’t say _why_ they were there either. Everyone kept shouting questions at each other until Papyrus tried to ask if anyone had seen our brother.” He paused and let out an uneasy breath. “They got confused, all of them. They remembered him for a moment and then it faded. Me and Paps tried constantly to remind them, but after the fifth time in ten minutes, we just gave up. Afterwards, when we would try to lead anyone back to the place, we could never find it. It was like it’d only show up if _it_ wanted to.

            “In the end, the explosion was written off as an accident. I was put on probation since I admitted to helping destroy the transformer. Not that it mattered.” He let his eyes slide shut as they rubbed his shoulders. “I quit a couple days after the accident.”

            Part of them begged not to ask—this whole conversation was _so much_ more than they’d bargained for—but there was still tension in his back and a pinched look in his face. “Why?”

            For a moment, they thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he rolled over so that he was facing upward; his gaze however, didn’t land on them, even when they settled their hands over his chest, and finally he just shut them again. “I couldn’t stand to be in the labs anymore. I kept expecting him to turn up around any corner or just pop up from behind one of the machines. I was turning into a nervous wreck.

            “It wasn’t just that though. Gaster’s presence should have been all over every inch of any of the labs; he lived in them, even after me and Pap both moved out. He spent every moment of the day there, for years and years, since long before Paps or I was born. No one spent more time in them but him.

            “And yet, it was like he was never there. His books, his tools, his piles of old notebooks that he never threw away because he always insisted that there might be something important for later in them… they were all gone. Even stupid shit, like this ridiculous poster he put up in the break room to spite us because we all complained it was too boring in there. Or the stupid stuffed deer head Alphys found in the trash once that she gave to him. He would put it in really unsettling places to freak out anyone who stumbled on it. But then it disappeared too. It all disappeared. Everything except the data that he kept stored in the computer banks.”

            Frisk’s brows knit together. “The computer banks?”

            “Yeah. I don’t know how, but for some reason the information stored in our servers didn’t disappear. Well, most of it. Some of the files had giant chunks missing out of them. Once I found out about them, I made it my mission to try and compile the remains of his research. I knew it wouldn’t help anything, and yet, I just got lost trying to put it all together. I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

            They smiled softly and reached up to gently pet his cheekbone. “And did you?”

            “I got what I could, but a lot of it was just useless shit. Just junk that he couldn’t bear to part with, that kept me running in circles.” He paused before reaching up and grabbing their hand that stroked his cheek. Instead of pulling it away, he pressed their hand against the side of his face and held it there, eyes still shut. “I went a little crazy trying to find something useful in them. After awhile of nothing working out, I tried to recreate some of his experiments, to recapture lost data. Some of it worked. Most of it didn’t.

            “For awhile, I even tried to recreate the gateway experiment. I got it in my head that maybe when we tried to readjust for a bigger gateway that we’d screwed up the math somewhere. I went back to the very basics, all the way back to his original prototype even.” He sighed. “I could never get it to work. The prototype was broken, my math was wrong. I could never figure out what to do to fix it.

            “It… got to me. I stopped talking to others, stopped taking care of myself. At first I was solely focused on fixing the machine, but when I finally realized I never could, I just…” he shrugged. “I went to bed and didn’t come out for four days.”

            They winced. Monsters needed to eat and drink just like humans, needed to exercise at least a little. They had a leg up when it came to the fact they didn’t need to use the bathroom like humans, but they still had to look after their hygiene. “So what changed?”

            “Papyrus nearly broke my door down. I think someone called him and asked him to check on me.”

            “Alphys?” they suggested.

            “Maybe. I dunno. All I know is that he broke my lock trying to get in. He took one look at me and my apartment and announced I was coming to live with him whether I wanted to or not.” He huffed, a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh; it was hard to tell. “I couldn’t find the energy to fight him. I refused to leave the servers behind, but even back then, I could see he had a point. And it was easier, having someone boss me around. I could stop thinking so hard about everything, to just follow orders.” He paused and opened one eye socket to look up at them. “And that’s why I get fucked up every year around now.”

            “It’s a hell of a reason,” they offered after a moment where they ignored their rolling stomach.

            “So, congratulations. You’ve unlocked my tragic backstory. I guess that makes you a level seven friend now,” he announced dryly.

            They tried to smile, but they couldn’t barely manage to tug the corners of their mouth up. “I feel accomplished.” When he only managed a chuckle, they patted his cheekbone. After a moment, they used their free hand to pat his sternum. “Let me up.”

            “I don’t wanna,” he groaned, shutting his eyes.

            “I’m not getting up. I want to lie down.” When he opened one eye back up, they smiled down at him. “Let’s stay in bed for awhile. I already cleared our schedules for us.”

            “Oh. Thank god,” he sighed even as he reluctantly climbed out of their lap. “I was not looking forward to working today.”

 

 

 

 

            Long before Frisk learned how Gaster vanished, long before they learned how he created Sans and Papyrus, long before they learned how he lived, Frisk learned first of what happened after he vanished. In the long hours of the night when most people slept, when Frisk couldn’t find sleep, Sans would come sit with them as they sat around in the kitchen, where the lights wouldn’t wake up others. He’d join them at the table and sometimes he’d talk about things that had come before. Rarely did he tell the same tale; some were of his childhood, some of recent years, and some that had nothing to do with him.

            The first night he talked about Gaster, it was after Sans came downstairs and immediately got out the whiskey. They raised a glass to each other, but after sitting the glass down, Frisk had frowned at his darkened eye sockets and decided to take a risk.

            “Sans, what happened to your eye?”

            Sans considered his drink a long time before he spoke.

            It happened less than a month after he moved in with Papyrus. After Papyrus forced him to get a job, after he gave up trying to fix the machine in his workshop that Papyrus had generously given him.

            He met the gray figure in Waterfall. After the accident, he’d taken to walking through Waterfall. It was stupid, it was dangerous, it was asking for trouble—which was why he did it. At least in those moments, in between snarling threats and warnings at the ones that did cross his path, Sans hoped for dangerous things that he didn’t even like to think about.

            One day, he turned from the main path—always a bad idea, which is exactly why he wanted to do it. He was disappointed, however, to find that the turn only led to a tiny dock, barely even far enough from the main path to count as a detour. Sitting on the dock, a small, shadowy figure looked down at the waters directly below them.

            Sans blinked at the child—there was something _off_ about the kid. Well, more so than just the fact that the child was alone in the middle of the open. Even if killing children was forbidden, even under the Edict, that didn’t mean there wasn’t some freaks out there that wouldn’t love to get some easy EXP like a kid sitting in the middle of nowhere.

            If he were a decent monster, he would walk up to the kid and order them to go home. Hell, as a sentry, he probably had that much authority at least.

            Instead, after a moment of thought, he started to turn away. He frowned, or rather as much as he _could_ frow, as he turned, something under his ribs twisting in disgust with himself.

            A voice, however, cut through the melancholic gloom of water lapping at ancient rocks. “I met a man upon the stair. He wasn’t there again today.”

            Sans froze.

            “Oh, how I wish he’d go away.”

            Slowly, he turned back to look at the child. Squinting into the dark, he tried to make out more of the child; but there was so little light in this part of Waterfall in the first place. There were no crystals here, either, to shine light on. Was the child gray all over, or was that just the terrible lighting? Was the kid even talking to him? And what were those strange shadows on the back of the kid’s head? It was almost as if they were-

            He paused, unsettled by his own thoughts. To distract himself, he made sound like he was clearing his throat. “Did you say something to me?”

            The child paused before slowly turning their head; Sans had never understood the strange myth he heard of humans and animals sometimes vomiting in fear as it just seemed a waste of food. But then, as he locked gazes with those empty white eyes, he felt something in him churning. He had to fight every instinct he had that shrieked at him to look away and start running.

            The child blinked. “Hey. Can I ask you a question?”

            Sans froze; his brain screamed at him to say no, but his traitor body shrugged his shoulders without his consent.

            “Have you ever thought about a world where everything was exactly the same... But you don’t exist?”

            Sans’s brows knit together. “What?”

            The kid turned their unsettling gaze away, continuing as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Everything functions perfectly without you…” There was a pause and then the most unsettling laugh Sans had ever heard, a laugh that made him want to rattle his bones just to drown it out. “The thought terrifies me.”

            He opened his mouth, paused, then shook his head. “Kid, I don’t know what the hell you’re going on about, but go home and just… go do something normal. Go eat a cookie or draw on the wall or…” he paused, glancing away. “Go play with your siblings. But just… get the hell out of here. This is no place for kids.”

            To his dismay, the kid just shook their head again. “I can’t go back. Did you hear? The man who isn’t there is there again today.”

            Sans hunkered deeper into his coat, as if it would protect him, make a barrier between the two of them. “The man who isn’t there? Kid, you sound like you’re fucking-” He paused.

            A man. A man who wasn’t there. A man who didn’t _exist_.

            A man who didn’t exist to anyone else. Except for maybe a few people, or rather, in the memories of a few.

            Sans clenched his fists in his pockets. Well. Perhaps he could do his job for once and scout out a few things—that _was_ part of the job after all, wasn’t it? Be on the lookout for stuff? Raising his chin, he looked at the kid as directly as he could before he felt his bones want to shake. “Alright, kid. Where exactly did you meet this man, huh?”

            Perhaps worse than anything that came before this, the child looked at him square as well. “The place where you saw him last, of course.”

            Sans froze, ice gripping his soul like a vice. Shaking his head, he turned and began to walk away. “Whatever. Get your ass home, kid. It’s not safe here.” He picked up his pace, eager to get away from the unsettling child, but then he heard their voice again.

            This time, the voice was softer and almost normal, even if the words were not. “You should be careful, Sans. Not every part of that man wants you there. Not every part of him will be happy to see you there.”

            Sans froze and then whirled around.

            The child was already gone.

            “Oh, fuck that,” he muttered, shifting around to look among the weeds. “Now I got random kids telling me creepy shit and vanishing. _Fuck_ that.”

            _Still_ , he thought as he clenched his fists. This was the closest thing he had to a lead yet. Could he really ignore it?

            In the end, he decided he simply couldn’t and turned to hurry to the place that haunted his nightmares.

            He hadn’t _expected_ anything to be there.

            But there was.

            Standing there, Sans gawked at a familiar wooden door smack dab in the middle of the wall of solid rock. In spite of it never appearing after the accident, suddenly it had reappeared.

            For a moment, he wondered if someone was playing a sick game with him, and then he just wondered if he was hallucinating. Both ideas were ugly and repellant, and nowhere near as tantalizing as the next thought that he had—that maybe, the door was a sign. A sign of something trying to return.

            He grabbed the door, hoping to check behind it, but to his surprise, it was somehow fastened to the wall. After a moment of startled bemusement, he tried to open it as he would a normal door and found that it swung open easily. Beyond the doorway, inky blackness formed a barrier from seeing in. When he stuck his arm, his bones almost looked bleached against the shadows.

            Yanking his arm back out, Sans considered the door and took a step back. “Nope. Whatever this is, I’m not sticking my stupid head in some pitch black-”

            Later, he told Frisk that he heard something in the shadows, the sound of something small and metallic hitting the floor. The truth was that when he looked in again, he saw a familiar looking lighter of black and silver, standing out starkly from the unnatural black, sitting in a patch of darkness not three feet in front of him.

            Hope rose up in his chest to grab him by the throat. He stumbled in through the doorway, falling to his knees to scoop up his find. Examining it for a moment, he clutched to his chest like an amulet of protection before looking around the shadows, desperation pressing against his ribs from the inside until it felt like they would crack from the pressure. “Dings! Doc, you hear me?” he screamed into the darkness.

            Nothing.

            Gritting his teeth, he climbed up to his feet. “Old man! Are you here or not?”

            Behind them, there was a _creak_ , sending a shiver down his spine. As he turned, he saw the door slowly swinging shut, cutting the light off from outside, but not dimming the space inside any. With a strangle shout, he scrambled to catch the door in time, but a voice from the depths around him, made him freeze.

            “Sans…”

            The door swung shut.

            Fear and hope warred in him; terrified of disappointment, he didn’t want to look and find himself alone. Hope, however, won swiftly and he whirled around.

            Well. He wasn’t alone.

            A figure stood, half hunched over; most of the figure seemed somehow darker than their surroundings, but at the same time, the bottom of the figure’s form blended directly into the floor. As dark as the figure was, it made the bleached white of their head and hands stick out all the more. Or rather, made _his_ skull stick out more.

            Sans’s eyes widened; the lighter slipped from his phalanges. “D-doc?”

            The figure lifted his head, although a glob of black goop slipped out of the mouth and splashed into the floor before sinking in and vanishing. “Sans. Good of you to come.”

            He staggered forward, nearly tripping. “Oh, fuck, doc, it’s really you. _This_ is where you went?”

            His brother nodded, sending more of himself dripping down. “Mm. For some time.”

            Sans winced. “Good fucking—what _happened_ to you? Christ, are you… well, no, fuck, of course you’re not okay. Do you… hurt? Anywhere?”

            Like a balloon deflating, his brother suddenly collapsed in on himself, melting into a puddle on the ground. Sans yelped and had to jump back to keep the sludge from splashing on his shoes. After a moment of shocked silence, Gaster’s face reappeared in the middle of the mess, like a piece of trash resurfacing from the waters of Waterfall. “Sans. I’ve been waiting for you.”

            Face falling, Sans dropped to his knees but when he held out his hands, he realized he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He couldn’t just start scooping him up and dumping him into a bucket or something. “ _Fuck_ , doc. Dings, tell me what to do. I don’t—what _can_ I do?”

            Slowly, like he was fighting gravity, Gaster fought his way up until he was nearly eye level with his kneeling brother. “Help me. _Promise_. Promise to help me.”

            “Yes, fuck, Dings, of course! Of course, I’ll help,” he half shouted desperately as he watched his half melted brother start to deflate again. “Just—just tell me what to do.” He flinched as more parts of his brother’s face oozed black viscous fluid down his skull. “Aw, hell, doc. Whatever you need.”

            For a moment, all the melting and oozing stopped as his brother gazed at him dead in the eye. “Thank you, Sans. I knew coming to this you was the correct choice.”

            Sans paused. “This me?”

            He never got a chance to ask Gaster what he meant.

            One moment, his brother was a literal puddle on the ground; the next, that shapeless hand snapped forward and buried itself in Sans’s right eye socket. Sans gasped, more startled than hurt at first. Then, however, Gaster twisted his fingers and something in Sans’s eye socket caught and twisted with the gesture.

            Instantly, Sans’s entire existence morphed into agony. Whatever it was Gaster had a hold of in his socket—there wasn’t even anything in there to grab, what the hell was he grabbing, oh _fuck_ , this hurt—sent sharp, stabbing pains deep into his skull and beyond. Sans opened his mouth as if it would help him scream, but in the end, all that came out was an agonized whimper of shock. He couldn’t move as surely as if his brother had enveloped him in blue magic—and maybe he had because Sans honestly could not move.

            Then Gaster _pulled_ and Sans learned a new world of pain.

            One last tug and Gaster yanked his arm back. Something in his hand glowed a deep bloody red, but Sans barely noted it. Instead, he landed backwards in a heap. Finally, he found his voice and he started to scream in pain. Rolling over, he pressed a hand to his eye socket and shuddered when he felt something bleeding out of his socket and around his fingers. Horrified, he looked and flinched at the sight of pale sand piling up on the floor below him.

            _Dust,_ he thought, breath rattling in his ribcage, _I’m bleeding dust. Oh god. Is he trying to kill me?_

            Slowly, with stuttering strength, he looked up in time to see Gaster hold up the red glowing _thing_ in his hand as if studying it. He didn’t even seem to realize that Sans was even there anymore.

            “Dings… what did you do to me?” he tried to growl, but it only came out as a trembling stutter.

            His brother glanced at him for a moment and Sans flinched under his gaze. It might have well not been his brother at all—Gaster looked down at him with a sort of disinterest that he only showed inanimate objects like a misplaced shoe. “Don’t panic. It’s just a little bit of your code.” He glanced back at the light. “This is an experiment, Sans. An experiment to create a connection to reality. To create an anchor.”

            “My code? What… what the fuck are you talking about?”

            He shot Sans an unimpressed look. “Your code, Sans. The data of your existence.” He looked back to the glowing thing while Sans’s breath vanished from his chest. “Your magic. A bit of your soul, if you will.”

            Before Sans even had a chance to scream, Gaster lifted the magic up and then dropped it down his mouth.

            Sans watched as his brother gulped down a fragment of his soul while dust bled out of his eye.

            There was a long moment where Sans choked on his horror and a small part of him wished desperately for the ability to vomit, so maybe he could just puke up whatever it was that was twisting him up so hard. _Oh **fuck.**_

            Gaster paused and frowned, looking down to examine his hands. “Hm. Nothing. Tch. Perhaps I should have tried Papyrus instead.”

            Sans gagged.

            The noise caught the other monster’s attention; he turned to look down at Sans, still shaking on the floor, one hand still clutching his damaged skull. “Well. Perhaps I just didn’t take enough. No matter.” He turned, reaching out his hand again.

            Wincing, Sans tried to back up and ended up flopping backwards before he scrambled, still flat on his ass, backwards. “Stay away from me! You—whatever the fuck you are, stay back!”

            “Sit still, Sans. I finally might have found a use for you. No need to disappoint me again so soon.”

            Sans tried not to scream in horror and frustration as he realized that he still hadn’t reached a wall or even the door to help him pull himself up off the ground. He just kept backing up, on and on.

            Gaster followed him, moving forward like a puddle of water down an incline. His hand stretched for Sans again. “Backing out on your promise already, Sans? Can’t you appreciate how many struggles I went through trying to discover ways just to create you and your brother?”

            Sans put his hand down, to try and pull himself back again, but this time he flinched at the feeling of strange viscous gunk below his hand. Glancing behind him, he could have cried to see that ever expanding puddle of goop behind him. Had he somehow circled around until he ended up against Gaster’s back? How was that even possible?

            “I see. You refuse to help. Even though you’re the reason this world’s me is like this.”

            Sans’s face snapped back forward. His head spun as dust drifted down onto his clothes. “N-no, Dings! I didn’t mean for this—you gotta understand…”

            A pair of hands clapped onto his shoulders from the back, drawing him up short. “No, Sans. You are the one who won’t see. You made the machine. Your experiment.” The voice came from over his shoulder; when he turned his head, Gaster’s skull was behind him. “Your fault. Now. Sit still.”

            Fear and guilt choked him. He had thought that it was true, that it’d been his fault; had known it down in his marrow. But it was something entirely different to heard it said out loud, and by the one who’d he wronged in the first place. “D-dings…” he tried, helpless.

            “Yes, you do know it. It’s your fault. But you can make it right. Don’t you want to make it right, Sans?”

            _There’s a way to make things… right?_ he thought, sluggishly. His brain felt odd—everything felt a little soupy. But one thing remained strong—the guilt was still eating at his soul. _There can’t be._ That was too good to be true.

            And yet…

            On the other hand, if there really was a way to make up for everything, shouldn’t he do it? Shouldn’t he do everything he possibly could? No cost would be too great, since nothing could ever be enough. He had to do it.

            After all, if he couldn’t, what else was left for him?

            “There. You’re finally listening for once.” Gaster’s voice sounded distant as Sans’ eyes slid shut. A chill was creeping into his marrow, leaving him feeling more tired than ever before. “You’ll finally being useful.”

            He could do this, for him. He had to do it.

            He didn’t deserve anything better than this.

            As he sank deeper into cold, he heard Gaster speak again. “And if you can’t be useful, well, maybe Papyrus will be instead.”

            For a moment, he almost lurched back out of that cold, but its grip was too strong. Again, he sank further into the cold.

            When the pain started, the chill in his bones kept him silent, even as his mind screamed. Like before, he could feel a tug at his core, a pull on his magic. Something was tearing at his soul and it felt like he was coming apart. He could feel his bones grinding together as something pulled and smashed at his soul, beating at him as relentless as the undertow.

            Perhaps it was for the best that he was paralyzed. Gaster had never been impressed by begging or sobbing anyway.

            He failed to endure the pain and felt lost to it for what felt like hours. Agony tended to eschew perception of time like that. Finally, the pain vanished, although the chill didn’t. He would have wept in relief if he had even that much control of his body.

            “Astounding. Even now, you’re still useless. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Every one of you is just as useless.” His brother didn’t snarl in contempt, and somehow that was worse—instead he spoke with a dispassionate bluntness that he knew so well. “This means I _will_ have to try Papyrus next. Hm.”

            The mention of his brother’s name shook him. _No_ , he thought. Gaster was right about it being his fault, but Papyrus had nothing to do with this. It’d been his fault—it was his experiment, his machine, his failure.

            But not Papyrus’s.

            Sans tried to move but only managed a pathetic whimper of protest.

            “Stop that. No one’s impressed with disgusting displays of weakness. Now then, Papyrus… ah. Well, that’s useful. He’s near the lure now. Let’s summon him, shall we? Mm, perhaps his form will be more suitable to house me.”

            Trapped inside his own body, Sans winced in horror. Gaster wanted to use Papyrus to _house_ him? While he wasn’t sure entirely what that meant, Sans had a good guess and it was enough to make him want to scream again.

            He had to _do_ something; while he surely deserved this (didn’t he?), Papyrus didn’t and he had to stop it. He _couldn’t_ let anything happen.

            If only he _could_ do anything. The ice in his bones kept him locked in place. He couldn’t so much as twitch a finger or close his good eye—even his hurt one gaped open, dust pooling in the socket.

            Why couldn’t he move? What, was the possible maiming—or _worse_ —of Papyrus not _enough_ for him? Couldn’t he do even this small thing?

            Heh. Gaster was right. He really _was_ useless.

            He tried, again and again, to rail against the chill inside him, to move even an inch, but nothing happened. He tried to summon magic, but he couldn’t even get a tiny bone bullet to form. _Useless, useless, useless! I really am useless. I can’t do it. Not even for Pap._

            Time passed, not that he knew how much as he was too distracted trying desperately to do _something_. And then, all at once, a new sound shattered his concentration.

            Someone was turning the knob on the door.

            Above him, Gaster vanished as if he’d never been there at all. And yet, the chill kept a firm grip on him. All he could do was watch, horrified, as the door swung open.

            Papyrus barged in, the door swinging wide as he stepped in. He paused only for a moment to look around.

            The moment his gaze landed on Sans, the elder brother felt his soul quake. _Oh fuck, Pap. Nononono! Get out of here, go back! Run away, you idiot, go!_

If his brother noticed his distress, he immediately ignored it; Papyrus’s eye sockets widened as he looked down at him. “Sans! What’s happened to your eye?” his voice rang into the void, loud as a thunderclap as he raced into the room. He fell on his knees next to his brother, reaching out and grabbing Sans’s face to look into the eye socket. “Sans, you’re _bleeding dust._ What did you _do?”_

 _Run, you moron!_ he wanted to sob.

            Behind his brother, the darkness swirled; the black goo gushing figure had returned. Seeing him appear, Sans’s good eye could only widen in horror as those hands reached for Papyrus.

            They never had a chance to connect. Before Gaster’s hands got near Papyrus, a ring of bones shot up from the ground around him and Sans, angling up into Gaster. The oozing monster flinched back, dragging his body off the bone spears as he slid back and away.

            Papyrus turned, ready to snarl at his attacker, but froze as he caught sight of the retreating form before him. After a moment of his jaw hanging ajar, he managed to muster his voice. “Sans, what have you gotten us into…?”

            Perhaps the attack had frightened the chill off—perhaps the cold in his marrow had never been a part of him after all and Gaster was the one who had been frightened off—but Sans finally found the will to move. Reaching up, he grabbed Papyrus by the humerus and shook the bone. “We gotta _go_. Before he hurts you too. We have got to leave, now!”

            The shifting form froze for a second before it quickly began to surge upward, rising up until he towered twelve from top to the floor. He spread and shifted until he looked broad as a mountain and nothing like he’d had just before. Had he wanted to look weak and pathetic before? Sans had no idea. Black sludge surged outward from his sides, like a pair of giant black wings before his hands pushed out of the muck. Long bone spears rose up out of the sludge as well, looking surprisingly solid despite the monster that created them.

            Sans didn’t want to find out if they hit just as hard as Gaster had once been able to either. “Papyrus!” he shouted again, shaking his brother’s arm.

            For once, Papyrus didn’t argue or demand an explanation, something the dust bleeding eye socket helped encourage. Pulling Sans’s hand off his arm, he kept hold of that wrist and channeled blue magic through Sans until he was enveloped down to his soul. Without his body’s resistance, Papyrus quickly hauled Sans out of the room. He all but dropped Sans onto the silt covered ground before he reached back and slammed the door behind him. As the door shut, three bones punched through, startling Papyrus into staggering back.

            Papyrus waited for a moment, waiting to see if the door would open and their enemy would return. Instead, he could only watched in confusion as the bones melted away before the door was absorbed by the wall, vanishing from sight without a single sign to show it had been there in the first place.

            After a long pause, Papyrus released a stuttering breath. “Sans, just what the fuck is going on here?”

            Sans tried to find the strength to pick himself up, but it was all he could do to stay on his hands and knees, how Papyrus had left him to hit the ground. Eventually, he gave up the fight to gravity to slump over so he could clutch his eye socket and try not to whimper. Distantly, he heard Papyrus curse and then felt a barrage of thumps. With a gasp, his health returned as the healing bullets were absorbed into him.

            Papyrus look down at him, studying him; whatever he saw made him sigh in what sounded like was relief. Probably just glad to see his hard work hadn’t gone to waste. Still, after looking Sans over, he winced as his gaze met Sans’s. “Your eye is… not better.”

            A sob hammered at his ribs, but he grit his teeth to keep it back. “It was him. He… he _ripped_ it out of me.”

            “He… ripped it out? How can he… that… that has to be impossible.”

            Sans tried not to flinch as he pressed a hand to the empty eye socket. If he focused, he could shift a little of his magic over into the socket, barely enough to see Papyrus as a vague shadow. The eye socket felt… empty was the only way to describe it. The magic that should have been there was just _gone_. As far as he knew, skeletons didn’t actually go blind if their eye sockets got damaged—a socket could break and close permanently, but their eyes were as magic as the rest of them and pretty resilient. Even Gaster hadn’t been truly blind with his busted eye socket.

            The thought of his brother, reaching for his eye before he ripped the magic out, made him want to vomit like a human, to purge this nausea that made his magic churn. Clutching his hands to his eye, he curled in on himself. “I _know_ what happened! I was fucking there! He said he ripped the magic out and that’s what it fucking felt like, okay?”

            Papyrus opened his mouth once, twice, and then grimaced. “Do you… did he say who he was?”

            His churning emotions turned his voice scornful as he scoffed. “You know who _the fuck_ that was.”

            Papyrus went very still, clenching and unclenching his fists as he scowled back, his gloves creaking as his grip tightened each time. “No. I don’t. Because what you’re insinuating is impossible.”

            “It was him, alright?!”Sans snarled, his hand rattling against his skull despite how hard he was pressing it to his face. “It was Dings!”

            Silence for a long, painfully long, minute. “You’re lying.”

            Sans wanted to scream until all that remained in his head was the ringing of his own shouts, pushing out reality until he could maybe breathe again. “It was fucking him, okay? I would know my own fucking brother-”

            “THAT,” Papyrus screeched, his voice making Sans jump. “WAS NOT OUR BROTHER!”

            Sans paused for a long time. God, he wanted to throw up. Maybe then the inside of his chest would stop hurting.

            Perhaps Papyrus took the silence for acceptance, or maybe he actually picked up on the stunned resentment in it. Either way, he began to speak, voice trembling with fury and fear alike. “That was not Wing! Our brother _never_ would have hurt you. He wouldn’t hurt you _or_ me. He…” he stumbled over his words, grimacing as he spat his words. “We were important. To him. To his work. He’d never hurt us, never. So, you’re lying.”

            Each word pounded away, each angry tear made Sans’s soul wince. But it was the complete desperate disbelief in Papyrus’s face that finally broke something deep in Sans. One moment, burning, indignant fury wailed about the injustice of it all. And the next, something went cold and a wave of exhaustion overtook him.

            Papyrus, his own brother, who’d seen and even fought against the misshapen figure of their brother refused to believe him?

            Fine.

            Why even be surprised?

            He let his hand drop to the ground; when he did, he felt it collide with something. Looking down, he saw the lighter. How had it gotten out there? He didn’t know. Instead, he picked it up and dropped it into his pocket. He could worry about it later. Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

            Closing his good eye socket, Sans laid his head back down onto the cold dirt of the ground. “Fuck you,” Sans managed, but there was no heat to his words. Instead, he focused on his breathing while Papyrus fumed and cursed him, ignoring all of it. Even when Papyrus picked him up and began to shake him, Sans kept his eyes closed. Eventually, the words ran dry and Papyrus stopped shaking him.

            After a long stretch of silence, Papyrus shifted his grip and carried him back to the house. Somewhere, long before they reached home, Sans fell asleep. Hours later, he’d wake up, screaming, as he tried to claw his way out of his nightmares.

            The first of his nightmares about a man lost in the void.

            It took twenty minutes for Sans to finish the story, his eye sockets dark the entire time as he nursed his glass of whiskey. As he finished, he seemed to realize for the first time that the bottle was almost empty. He scowled.

            Before he could find the will to get up, Frisk stood. He paused, not looking up at them, but waiting; it made them frown all the harder. They walked around the table, pulled out the chair closest to him, sat, and pulled him into a hug.

            He tensed for a sliver of a second before he relaxed into their arms. When they started petting the curve of his skull, he closed his eyes and sighed.

            “I’m sorry,” they murmured, voice no louder than his had ever been during the entire story. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

            He nodded; after all, if there was anyone’s sympathy he could accept, it’d be theirs. They had, after all, gone through much of the same thing. He knew it was less sympathy and more empathy, and the thought they could understand it too well made part of him ache. “I know.” He let them hold him for a minute longer before he pulled back from them. “That wasn’t the last we saw of him.”

            Frisk hid a grimace and reached for his hand, bracing themselves for whatever horror came next. “What happened next?”

            He didn’t react much to their hand, just let them squeeze his without an apparent care. “People started going missing.”

            Frisk straightened. “What?”

            He continued as if they hadn’t spoken. “Monsters. All of them were scientists, and they’d all been there the day of experiment. At first, we had no idea anything was happening. After the accident, I didn’t speak to any other scientists for a long time. They’d tried to bug me to come back, but after awhile they all just stopped. I thought they’d just gotten a clue. But then one day Alphys had to call me to ask if I still had any of the data from an old experiment we’d worked on together. When I gave her the data, I noticed how empty the lab was, so I asked her about it. Asked where the other scientists were, where so-and-so’s stuff had gone to.

            “She looked at me like I was crazy. I tried to ask her about everyone I could think of, but she had no idea who most of them were. These were people who we spent ages with—she worked with them as an intern for a months and then years as a doctor, and still she couldn’t remember them.

            “It was just like what had happened to the old man. And considering what happened when he tried to… attack me. I could make a pretty good guess as to what happened to them.”

            Frisk, at a loss, laid their head against his shoulder. When he didn’t shake them off, they took it as a mostly good sign. “Did you try to investigate more after that?”

            They felt him shake his head. “No. I’d already… well, seen _enough_ of what became of the doc. I didn’t need any more of that.” He sighed. “Papyrus, on the other hand… I made the mistake of telling him about it after he asked about one of the scientists. We’d known this guy since we were small. Nice enough to let us pester him while he worked or share some candy if he had any. I forget why Papyrus asked about him, but I felt like I owed him the truth.

            “He didn’t believe me that it was Gaster who did it. He never really accepted that it was really him who attacked me. Pap kept trying to insist that it had to be someone trying to pretend to be the doc. He swore he’d discover the truth about it.

            “And then one day, he went to work at his usual time. But he didn’t get home on time. Before I could… um. Notice,” he lied—they could guess he’d been worried half sick. “He showed up at the house, looking exhausted. Like someone had run him halfway to hell.

            “He never told me what happened, but after that, he never tried to say that it wasn’t Gaster anymore. And he also got really hell bent on getting us out of Snowdin.”

            For a long time, neither of them spoke; what was there to say to all that, after all? Finally, he tapped his glass. “I need a refill.”

            “I think,” they began, standing up, “that it’s time for bed.”

            He snorted, but there was little mirth to it. “Are you going to tuck me in too?”

            “If you want.”

            He fell silent, but his voice was soft when he spoke next. “Will you come to bed too?”

            They nodded; honestly, they felt exhausted after the tale. They would probably have nightmares now as their own memories scratched at the back of their mind. But still, they didn’t want to be sitting down here alone anymore. “Let’s go.”

            Sans let them tug him up from his chair and then up to bed. He smacked their hands away when they jokingly tried to actually tuck him in bed, but he did roll over to look at them as they settled in on their side. Perhaps the telling had exhausted him as well as he quickly fell back asleep.

            Closing their eyes, they tried to put it out of their thoughts. That night, they dreamt that a gray door appeared every which way they went. No matter how far they ran, the door would constantly appear.

            On the other side of the door, a voice called out to them.

            _(DON’T YOU WANT TO BE USEFUL TOO?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this was so late. This chapter ran so long, even after I started cutting stuff out. While I'd like to do more stuff with Gaster and his past, that will have to be saved for a future chapter. Just a reminder, requests are still closed for now. I'll let you guys know when I'll open them again.
> 
> There was probably something else I wanted to say here, but I'm so damn tired, I can't remember. If I do, I'll edit this part later.
> 
> EDIT: I REMEMBER WHAT I WANTED TO SAY. A character gets mentioned in this chapter--Squydia is a name I made up for Skateboard Girl, a NPC in Hotland that stands near Fukufire in the game. I always thought she was a type of ocotpus/squid monster, hence the name. In this world, she's a friend of Fukufire and she's an orphan, so Grillby took her in. She works at the bar to try and pay him back in a small way, hence why she's bar tending. I actually had some fun drawing her and Fukufire lately, if you'd like to see what she looks like in this world. http://last-haven.tumblr.com/post/170562553549/so-despite-the-fact-that-they-play-almost-no-role


	37. This is how genocide runs start

            Chara sat down on the bench, down on the clean end that _wasn’t_ currently on fire. The fire was easy to ignore considering how much of the rest of the park was on fire anyway. Sitting there, they glanced down at Asriel’s furry paws. Usually the fur was a pristine white, but now it was currently gray with ash and smeared with dirt and blood, as was the rest of their clothes and body.

            In the distance, they could still hear the screams of horror and explosions, almost loud enough to cover the echoing peals of laughter coming from the epicenter of the chaos.

            Undyne was having way too much fun with this.

            _How did it come to this?_ Asriel asked gloomily in the back of their head.

            Sighing, they stared down at their hands again.

            All they had wanted was a goddamn ice cream cone.

 

 

 

 

            The whole thing started when Papyrus got an invitation. The sparkling envelope it came in looked more a conspicuous glitter bomb than an invite. And, to be honest, it actually _was_ a pretty effective glitter bomb as Papyrus’s gloves were instantly covered as soon as he pulled the invitation out, as were his boots and pants as a cloud of glitter fell out of the envelope as well.

            “Dazzling as always,” Frisk chuckled while Papyrus opened the invitation. “So, what is everyone’s favorite robot up to?”

            Papyrus’s face was nearly as pink as the card. “Mettaton’s sent me an invitation to come join him backstage to his new stage show. Look! He sent me a backstage pass and everything!” He clutched his new prize eagerly, nearly shoving the badge into his face so he could read the tiny print on the back.

            “Why did he not just send you a copy in an email?” Chara asked, frowning down at the glitter on the floor as they draped across the back of the couch.

            “Our dear friend’s keenly developed sense of drama couldn’t let an opportunity like this go,” Frisk intoned, voice wry as they also looked at the mess on the floor.

            “I’m not cleaning it up,” Sans announced, not bothering to open his eyes as he reclined in the chair.

            Chara glared at him, folding their arms against the top of the couch. “You do not clean anything up in the first place.”

            If the short skeleton heard them, he gave no sign.

            Frisk heard, however, and chuckled. They tried to look disapproving, but Frisk couldn’t hide their amusement as Chara gave them an innocent look. Shaking their head, they turned back to Papyrus. “So, when’s this show? And where’s it at?”

            “It’s in Las Vegas,” he paused, glancing up at Frisk. “Where is that again?”

            Frisk shrugged. “Eh, it’s the next state over. About a five hour drive, but nothing impossible.”

            He nodded and went back to the invitation. He paused and then his shoulders slumped suddenly. “Oh.”

            Even Sans cracked open an eye as the rest of them tensed up. “What?” Frisk asked, stepping forward. “Problem?”

            “I can’t go,” he sighed. “This says the show is going to be a special early showing, so it’ll be at noon.”

            “Oh,” Frisk murmured, looking thoughtful. “Well. That would be hard to do. You’ve never been to Vegas before, so you couldn’t just teleport there.” They brightened. “How about this? We do a little road trip and drive there. We find a little place outside of town to make yourself a little safe place to teleport. Then, when the day comes, you can just go there, call a ride, go the show, and then teleport back here all in decent time.”

            Papyrus shook his head. “It’ll be on a Tuesday. I need to take the princes to school.”

            Chara grimaced. “We could stay home.”

            Frisk was still looking at the invitation in Papyrus’s hands. “It’s only one day. Sans and I could clear our schedules and look after them for a while. Drop them off at school, pick them up.” They brightened. “It’d be fun. We could do it.”

            “Or we could stay home,” Chara repeated. “We are perfectly capable of looking after ourselves.”

            Frisk shot them a dry look. “There’s a hole in the kitchen that would disagree with you.”

            Chara wisely fell silent. They or Asriel still weren’t allowed near the new pressure cooker after that little fiasco. So much for being the best cook in the house.

            Papyrus perked up. “Are you sure you can just do that?”

            “Well, as long as there’s nothing important, we can.”

            “What Tuesday is it?” Sans asked, drawing everyone else’s attention. Sometime during the conversation, he’d gotten out his phone and was flipping through it.

            “The fifteenth,” Papyrus answered.

            Sans checked something and then grimaced. “We got an early meeting at seven.”

            Frisk looked aghast. “Why the hell did I agree to have a meeting at seven in the morning? How the hell did _you_ agree to it?”

            _“You_ said that I could sleep through it,” he retorted. “And it’s with the monster Relocation and Acclimation Committee. We didn’t get to pick a good time.”

            Frisk groaned. The Relocation and Acclimation Committee was a group set up to help get monsters out of the Underground and safely integrated into human society. While about half of the monster population had already moved out of the Underground, this still left half stuck in the mountain, most stubbornly refusing to agree to play nice. Not to mention there was still plenty of problems topside with helping monsters fit in. Meetings tended to run long and heated, and sometimes barely any progress got made. Not a single person on the committee or the rest enjoyed those meetings but they couldn’t be avoided. “Okay,” they managed. “Okay. The meeting’s at seven.”

            “Yep,” Sans answered, still gazing at his phone.

            “So, when is it supposed to end?”

            “Uh, if it all goes well? Probably about noon.”

            Frisk relaxed. “Okay then! So, by the time lunch rolls around, we should be out. That means we can still pick them up from school. All we need is someone to drop them off.”

            Chara sat up again with a scowl. “A babysitter is _not_ necessary.”

            Frisk shot them a pointed look.

            Sensibly, they fell silent again. Okay, the police _had_ given them a very firm warning last time.

            “What if we asked your friend, Kid, if you could join him when you guys walk to school?” Frisk offered. “Don’t they live around here? His sister could walk you guys there. You’ d have to get up on your own, but…”

            “I can _definitely_ do that on my own,” they added.

            “I am _not_ leaving the princes’ safety in the hands of a sixteen year old,” Papyrus snapped before gently amending the statement. “Although she does appear to be a fairly responsible child. Nonetheless, she is _still_ a child herself! Unacceptable.”

            “Why don’t you just ask Toriel?” Sans interrupted, poking around on his phone idly.

            Everyone fell silent.

            “No,” Asriel answered firmly, taking control for a moment to let his opinion be heard. “I don’t want Asgore either.” They looked at Frisk pleadingly. “Can’t I just stay home? I swear I’ll just sit around here and stay out of trouble. You could take me to school _after_ lunch and I can catch up after that.”

            Frisk smiled gently. “If word got back to your parents that I let you stay home alone and unattended, we’d _all_ get in big trouble.”

            Frowning, Asriel let Chara take control again, sitting in the back of their mind to pout.

            Papyrus sighed gustily, looking down at the invitation longingly and regretfully as he slid it back into its envelope. “Frisk is right. We can’t have you alone, even at home. You’re too valuable for that.”

            Chara felt their cheeks darken under Asriel’s fur. Poor Papyrus. He deserved to go and have fun. But what could they do?

            “I’ll call Mettaton, let him know I can’t go.”

            “Oh, Pap, dear,” Frisk tried, reaching out to him, but he firmly waved their sympathetic touch away.

            Chara frowned. There _had_ to be something they could do. But what?

            “It’s fine.” Papyrus shrugged, turning the envelope over in his hands. “I’m sure there will be… other opportunities.” Despite his words, he couldn’t hide his doubt well.

            Chara paused and sat up again. “What if Undyne looked after us?”

            There was a pause as three sets of gazes landed on them. Frisk was the first to speak. “Would she agree to that?”

            Papyrus looked thoughtful. “I don’t see why not. I’d have to ask her soon, so she could rearrange her schedule.”

            While the two of them talked, Chara had a new problem; in the back of their mind, Asriel nearly had a conniption. _UNDYNE? ARE YOU **CRAZY?!**_

            _Frisk told you not to talk that way, Az,_ they shot back airily.

            _THAT’S A TERRIBLE IDEA! Do you know how many times she killed me? She’s a sadist and she’ll make our lives miserable before she tortures us and then she’ll-!_

_Asriel. She is not going to kill us. She takes her job too seriously for that._

That was hard to argue—Undyne was very insistent on protecting the royal family, especially _now_ , after the Edict and the barrier were gone. She now had a new sense of pride when she said she was captain of the Royal Guard.

            _Leave her to me, Az. I will not let her harm either of us. Besides, if something does go wrong, I will have our distress crystal ready. Papyrus would save us before anything went wrong._

_Chara, you can’t really trust her. She’s just… too wild to guess what she’ll do next. She isn’t safe!_

_Papyrus believes in her. Shouldn’t you?_

Asriel fell silent again before sighing. _Fine. But you’ll be the one dealing with her at **all** times._

            Chara smiled. _I promise._

_Whatever. I just don’t get why you care so much._

            They tuned back into the conversation in time to hear Papyrus’s excited voice. “I’ll give her a call right now! I’m sure she’d love to do it.” He turned to Chara and ruffled the fur between their ears, something he’d picked up from Frisk. “She’d hate to turn down an honor like defending our princes, even if only for a day.”

            Face burning, Chara slumped against the couch cushions to hide a smile.

            _Oh. I see._

_Shut up. I know what you’re thinking, dummy._

_Chara’s got a crush~_ he sang loudly.

            Chara was very glad that no one else could hear Asriel. _It is NOT a crush. It’s a squish._

_Same difference!_

_Is not. I do not want to—ah—play ‘kissy-face’ with him like you do Frisk._

Flustered silence met their words. That should have pleased them, but they only felt a twinge of annoyance. Honestly, Asriel could be so thick sometimes.

            They were shaken from their thoughts as they felt the couch cushions shift next to them. Frisk leaned against the back of the couch, looking down at them with a wry look on their face. “Looks like you’re deep in conversation there. Penny for your thoughts?”

            Clearing their throat, they lifted their head and spoke in a lofty tone. “My thoughts are worth far more than a penny.”

            They grinned. “How about a bowl of chocolate ice cream?”

            They sat up. “I could consider telling you a few thoughts for that.”

            Frisk laughed and straightened up. “Well, let’s get in the kitchen and fix ourselves up something. Sans, you want some?”

            “Pass,” the lazy skeleton said, dropping his phone into a pocket as he folded his arms behind his head. “I’ll take a nap instead.”

            “As you wish,” Frisk replied before looking back to Chara. “Shall we?”

            They nodded and climbed over the back of the couch before following them into the kitchen while Frisk laughed at them climbing furniture like a little barbarian.

 

 

 

 

            When Chara said that they full intended to deal with Undyne for the day, they meant it. When she agreed to take over for Papyrus, they’d prepared themselves to deal with her gruff attitude and her rough manners. They’d prepared to have to put with posturing and maybe some unsubtle threats. They’d even prepared to contact Papyrus or Frisk or their parents or even the useless Sans if they had to. They made sure their homework was done and packed in their bag, they got their own lunch ready and stowed in the fridge, and even said goodbye early to Papyrus since he’d decided to leave very early, four in the morning, to go help Mettaton get ready.

            What they were not prepared for was being launched three feet into the air, waking up from a dead sleep at five in the morning when Undyne jumped on their bed. They flew up into the air and awoke at the peak of their flight’s height. Then gravity reclaimed them. Instead of falling onto their bed though, they smacked into the floor because Undyne had launched them into the air at an angle.

            They didn’t even have a moment to lie there and groan in shock, pain, and confusion as Undyne jumped off their bed and landed right next to their head, making them squeak in surprise before scrambling away.

            “GOOD MORNING, MY LITTLE PRINCELY PUNKS!” she roared, grinning toothily as she put her fists on her hips. “Up and atta ‘em, your highnesses!”

            Chara gawked up at her for a moment. Then they ducked their head as she ducked as well—something flew through the air and smashed into their window, cracking it. Looking at it, they realized it was Frisk’s tablet, the screen now as cracked as the window.

            Undyne laughed. “Good to see your reflexes aren’t too rusty, Frisk.” She straightened to see Frisk’s glare morph into tired irritation. “You would have got me if your door hinges didn’t squeak so much. You should oil them.”

            Frisk’s look just got uglier. “Undyne. It is _five in the_ _morning._ Why are you screaming and assaulting my wards at five in the goddamn morning?”

            “What, did I interrupt your beauty sleep?” Undyne sneered. “Up too late fooling around to get decent shut eye?”

            Frisk pointed at her, a rather useless gesture seeing how they weren’t anywhere close to intimidate her. “If I’m fooling around at night, in the comfort and privacy of my own home, that’s my business. You, on the other hand, broke into my house and made a racket and _scared_ my kids.”

            Undyne snorted. “Your _kids_ are fine. See? Not a scratch on them.”

            Still scowling, they glanced down at Chara. “You guys okay?”

            Chara finally woke up enough to scowl back; they were especially grateful that no one could see the blush on their face right then. “I am fine.”

            Frisk sighed. “Undyne, what are you even doing here?”

            “Getting the kids up for school,” she answered. “Duh.”

            “Undyne, it’s five in the morning.”

            “So? They got to have time to get ready.”

            “School doesn’t start until eight. They don’t even leave the house until after seven,” Frisk groaned, rubbing their face with their hands. “This is too goddamn early for this.”

            “Pfft, does Asgore know you’re babying these kids so much? When I was their age, I got up at this time, training my gills off so that I could stay healthy and in shape to survive.” She clenched her fist and pounded it into her open palm. “It’s a dog eat dog world out there. If these kids aren’t whipped into shape, who knows what could happen to them.”

            A twitch started to develop under Frisk’s left eye. “It is _not_ a world of ‘kill or be killed’ anymore.”

            Undyne huffed. “That doesn’t mean they aren’t in danger anymore! They’re princes of the monster royal family! We can’t just allow them to go soft just because monsters don’t kill each other anymore.”

            Frisk glared, disgruntled as ever, but then they paused and looked over their shoulder. There was a noise from behind them, a quiet voice that Chara only picked up because of Asriel’s good hearing.

            From under the covers of their bed, Sans grumbled _“that’s it.”_

            There was flicker of magic and the familiar distortion in the ambient magic as Sans teleported. Then, with a faint pop of displaced air, Sans reappeared, grabbed Undyne by her elbow, and then vanished again, the fish monster in tow before she could even shout at him.

            One long minute later, Sans reappeared in the hall.

            “What did you do?” Frisk asked, stepping aside so he could get back into their bedroom. “Where did you send her?”

            “Back to her and Al’s house. I told her she could come back in an hour and that she’d better be fucking quiet when she does. Now, I’m going back to sleep. This is too goddamn early.”

            Frisk sighed as he climbed back into bed. “I don’t think I could go back to sleep if I wanted.”

            “Try,” Sans told them bluntly.

            They considered before shrugging. Before ducking back into their room, they looked at Chara. “Hey, are you really okay? I could call and chew her out if I have to. Or we could, I dunno, find some way to change plans or something.”

            For once, when Sans sighed in disgruntlement, Chara found themselves silently agreeing with him. Not that they’d ever admit as much aloud. “No. I am fine and I can do this.” They rubbed their head. “I just need… more sleep.”

            Frisk nodded. “You want to be tucked back in?”

            They stuck their nose up in the air and pointedly climbed back into bed on their own. “I’m quite fine, thank you.”

            _Stuck up,_ Asriel grumbled.

            _Big baby,_ they shot back.

            _Am not._

            Frisk chuckled, shaking their head. “Just because I can’t hear you, it doesn’t mean I can’t tell you two aren’t arguing. Play nice, kids.”

            Chara sighed and stubbornly turned over onto their side facing away from them. “ _Fine_. Good night.”

            “More like good morning,” Frisk grumbled before shutting their bedroom door.

            Frowning, Chara tried to get comfortable, but found themselves wide awake. Frustrated, they closed their eyes, but opened them after a moment to look at their very cracked window. Did Frisk realize they broke the window and their tablet? Should Chara tell them?

            Ugh. This was going to be a long day.

 

 

 

 

            Surprisingly, Undyne actually took the hint and waited until six to come back. She waited literally until the clocks all ticked over to six—Papyrus kept all the clocks in the house on a very precise measure—and then began to pound on the front door. Over in Frisk and Sans’s room, they could hear cursing coming from both occupants, so Chara decided to let them deal with Undyne while they got up and got dressed.

            Frisk tromped downstairs while they pulled on a pair of pants. When the front door swung open and they heard overeager shouting, they quickly scrambled to tug on a shirt.

            They just had time to pull their shirt down when Undyne started pounded on the door. “Yo, brats! You awake yet?”

            “Does Asgore know you call his kids brats?” They heard Sans ask on the other side of the door.

            “Don’t try and distract me! And if you fucking teleport me again without my permission, I’ll fucking chuck you into the next goddamn county.”

            “I’d just teleport straight back here,” he grumbled, but his voice was fading as he shuffled away.

            While they squabbled, Chara dug out a pair of pants and tried to pull them on. Abruptly, their door swung open again, surprising them into flopping onto the floor, one leg still half pulled up.

            Undyne stepped in, looking around for a moment before she spotted them on the floor as they quickly shimmied the rest of the way in to their pants. She grinned. “Oh, good, at least you’re trying to get dressed.” Her grin turned sinister. “Of course, if I had my way, you’d already be completely dressed and prepared for an exciting day. If _some_ people didn’t butt in, that is,” she added, glaring down the hall. Her frustration vanished as she turned back to them. “But, fuck it! No need to cry over a cracked thumb.”

            Chara grimaced. “Broken thumbs should be seen to by a healer.”

            “Pfft! Maybe if you’re a big whine baby.” She sneered. “Are you a big whine baby?”

            Maybe once upon a time, that dig would have riled Asriel up. But Asriel was too frightened of Undyne for it to work and Chara was too old to fall for it. Instead, they got up so they could properly put their hands on their hips and scowl at her. “Whether or not I cry over something is none of your concern, Captain. And more importantly. If I _did_ cry, I would not tell _you_ about it.”

            Instead of being offended, she laughed, startling them. “That’s good!” she shouted, grinning to show off all her jagged teeth. “Never show weakness in front of the enemy. That’s a good way to get tricked or tortured.”

            Chara felt a sliver of unease. “You… did not deny being my enemy.”

            She just grinned before stepping back out of the room. “Finish getting dressed. I may not be training you this morning, but we still got work to do. Hop to it!”

            As she marched away, Chara let their arms fall to their side. _She is mental._

 _I told you,_ Asriel huffed. _Are you okay?_

 _Of course, I am fine._ They paused, shaking their hand before they reached out to shut their dresser drawer. _Why did I agree to this again?_

 _Because you said you’d do it so I wouldn’t have to,_ he answered before adding. _And for Papyrus._

Chara closed their eyes. _Ah, yes._ With a sigh, they got back to tidying up their things. Once they fixed their bed clothes, they reluctantly headed downstairs to the kitchen. Frisk was trying to coax the coffeemaker to brew faster while Sans sat at the table, his head hidden behind his folded arms that were propped up on the table. Both looked like death had warmed to a balmy, sticky humidity that left them miserable. At least Chara had gotten several more hours of sleep on either of them, not that it made them feel more sympathetic. They were adults and Chara would have hoped that at least one of them would have matured enough to acquire a proper sleep schedule.

            Undyne, in stark comparison to Frisk and Sans, looked itchy with extra energy. “There you are!” she shouted, making Frisk and Sans wince at her volume. “Come here. You probably have to get your lunch made, right? Let’s do that now.”

            Chara lifted their chin, but it was hard to look down your nose at someone who towered over you by two and a half feet. “My lunch is already made up. Papyrus and I did that last night.”

            Undyne lifted her brows, but didn’t sneer for once. “Papyrus, huh. Well, I’d hope he would make sure you guys have a balanced lunch, but that dude also thinks that people love burnt spaghetti. Better let me look at it.”

            They scowled, but it was Sans who spoke up, lifting his head from his arms to glare at her. “Wait a fucking second. You _know_ Papyrus cooks shitty spaghetti?”

            She stared at him. “Of course I know about that! Who do you think taught him?”

            The twitch under his eye returned. “You _taught_ my brother to cook like shit _on purpose?”_

            “Well, would you look at that!” Frisk nearly shouted, turning their back on the coffeemaker that had only barely started to grind into life. “Looks like the coffee machine is dead! Sans, let’s pick up some real coffee on the way to the meeting.” 

            He turned around to stare at them, but didn’t get a word out before they reached down and started to tug him up from the chair. “Ay, alright, _alright_ , don’t pull.”

            “Get dressed. We got a meeting to make and coffee to get on the way.” With one last shove, they sent him out of the room before turning back to Undyne and Chara. They pointed to Undyne first. “Look after Chara. Don’t spend all your time trying to tease them or terrorize the other kids.”

            _“Tch,”_ Undyne huffed. “I don’t know what’s more annoying, you insinuating that I wouldn’t take my job seriously or that you’re such a stick in the mud.”

            Frisk didn’t rise to the barb. “Be nice,” they said before turning and walking over to Chara. “That goes for you, too. No mischief.”

            They shot their guardian a flat look. “Stick in the mud.”

            Frisk’s lips twitched. “Behave.” They paused, their expression softening. “You got your crystal on you?” When Chara patted the lump under their shirt, Frisk nodded. “And your cell phone?”

            “It’s upstairs,” they admitted after a moment.

            “Kids can have cell phones in class now?” Undyne asked, frowning thoughtfully.

            “As long as it’s not on, Chara and Asriel have special permission to carry one,” Frisk explained.

            She shook her head. “Damn, kids got it easy today. I’d call those things a distraction even if they are off.”

            “Well, Undyne, when you have kids of your own to look after, then you can decide what they can and cannot do,” Frisk replied, tone clipped—it exposed just how tired they must have been. They turned back to Chara. “Call me if you need anything, okay?” they murmured, over considerably softer.

            They nodded.

            Frisk nodded back and then straightened, looking to Undyne. “I don’t know how long the meeting will run, but hopefully we’ll get out by lunch. I’ll give you a call to let you know then.”

            The captain didn’t look terribly impressed. “I think I can handle looking after the kids for a couple hours. I don’t even have to sit around and entertain them for most of it.”

            “All the same, we all appreciate it. Thank you, Undyne.”

            The genuine gratitude threw Undyne off for a moment; she waved Frisk off after a moment, a wry smile on her face. “Yeah, yeah. Get the fuck out of my hair and get going, will you?”

            “I hope you have a good day,” they said before turning back to Chara. “You as well. I’ll see the both of you later, okay?”

            _I want to say goodbye to them,_ Asriel said and Chara quickly announced as much before handing the reins over to Asriel. Quickly, he reached out to Frisk for a hug; their guardian reached down and gave him a squeeze. They said their goodbyes and Frisk pressed a kiss to his cheek before he finally let go and they straightened. Frisk and Chara had their own quick goodbyes before Frisk turned and said farewell to Undyne too. The captain nodded at them as they turned and finally left to go get dressed.

            Undyne waited a whole second after they both heard Frisk’s door close before she turned to Chara. “Are goodbyes always such a production around here, or are they just being fussy cause I’m here?”

            Chara considered her for a moment, considered Frisk’s warning to behave, and decided to deign and answer honestly. “It is mostly normal. Frisk and Asriel are both very… tactile.”

            She shot them a look. “Look who knows how to use grown up talk. Lighten up, kid, you’re only young once.”

            They did their best to hide their scowl. Today was not shaping up to be any sort of “fun” at all.

 

 

 

 

            Despite getting to school a whole forty minutes early, once they got to school, they thought the day might finally start to settle down. Sure, there was some fuss when everyone came walking in and asked what the Captain of the Royal Guard was doing outside until someone put two and two together and realized that her appearance coincided with Papyrus’s disappearance. Then Chara had to explain the truth, and while that mostly satisfied their classmates, there were snide whispers that Asgore and Toriel must have found Papyrus unacceptable and finally replaced him. It took a lot of patience Chara didn’t have to not immediately begin plotting revenge, but they held it together.

            If it had only been that, perhaps Chara could have a mostly normal day.

            For two precious hours, the excitement died down and everyone got on with their day. They even got work done.

            And then it was time for gym. As per part of the agreement, Chara had to go warn Undyne that they were leaving the classroom to join their classmates in the gym, just on the off chance she’d need to find them quickly, so she would know to go to the gym. Chara just planned to inform her of change in setting before catching up with their classmates.

            What they did not expect was Undyne getting up and announcing that she was coming too.

            They looked up, alarmed. “That really is not necessary.”

            She shrugged. “Eh, I’m bored sitting here anyway.” Before they could think of something to say, she began walking down the hall. “Let me guess, the gym is that big add on in the back, huh? All gyms in schools are alike.”

            Chara grimaced and just followed her. Somehow, she seemed to find her way easily and they had to reluctantly walk in after her as she kicked the door open. The gym teacher, a grouchy old monster that was the size of a minivan, looked up at this racket and promptly grimaced.

            “Ah, hell, what idiot let you in here, Undyne?” he grumbled while behind him the class peered at the intruder with undisguised interest.

            She sneered back. “Well, if it wasn’t Gramps Snaggletooth. Who the hell hired you? Someone who’s been trying to murder the kids by driving them to suicide to escape your boring ass rants about the old days?”

            With that promising start, class was derailed for a whole three minutes while the two adults trash talked each other before moving on to very unsubtle threats. The students watched eagerly, some of them even starting their own commentaries on the squabble while others started betting pools. Only a few people, those who were more sensible souls, started looking nervous.

            Finally, Chara decided they couldn’t stand the nonsense anymore and loudly cleared their throat. Of course, neither adult noticed them. Rolling their eyes, Chara spoke up, trying to project their voice loud enough to be heard. “If we are not going to be doing our duties, then I would like to go speak with my _mother_.”

            There was the tiniest pause before both captain and teacher jumped to attention as if they’d been shocked. Toriel may not have been willing to reclaim the title of queen anymore, but monsters, especially the older ones, still bent to her will unless it directly contradicted Asgore, something she was smart enough not to do publicly. Add in the fact that while monsters had no idea there was any love lost between Asriel and their parents, everyone knew that Chara was willing to be perfectly polite and friendly, especially in the public eye.

            They might have well had literally said “ _I’m going to tell my mom on you.”_

(Of course, if either of them thought about it, they might have realized that Toriel wasn’t even at the school today—she’d be at the same meeting as Frisk and Sans. But neither of them did notice it, so Chara remained a step ahead.)

            “To the line!” the teacher shouted, despite the fact that most of the students were already in their assigned spots. “Stretches and then ten jumping jacks. Hop to it!”

            Undyne rolled her eyes and took up a spot against the mats that were pinned to the cinder block walls of the gym. The class groaned, but Chara silently joined their classmates, satisfied the crisis was averted for now.

            The peace didn’t last long.

            As soon as the jumping jacks were done, Undyne commented none too quietly that the kids should probably do a few laps as well, to really limber up. The gym teacher ignored her and instead ordered the kids to do sit-ups. Instantly, the class groaned as a whole, only to be silenced when he snapped at them. Reluctantly, the kids took to the floor and began to do their best attempts at sit-ups.

            “It’d be easier for them to do better sit ups if each of them had partners to hold their feet down,” Undyne commented, breaking her silence again.

            The teacher twitched but stayed silent until the kids stopped pretending to do the sit-ups and instead flopped back. “Disgraceful! Ten pushups!”

            Everyone, even Chara, shouted their dismay.

            He didn’t care. “Do I need to make it twenty?”

            Undyne snorted and continued her commentary to the empty air. “Pfft. Like he’d actually do. These kids turned him into a pushover. Well, a _bigger_ one.”

            That seemed to do it. Furious, the teacher glared at her. “Alright, _captain,_ you think you’re such hot stuff? You think you can do better, hmm? Fine. Get up here and teach these kids a ‘thing or two’.”

            The students looked nervously at each other while Chara tried not to groan.

            Undyne smirked and pushed off from the wall and walked to the front of the class. “Alright, ankle biters, it’s time to get serious. Let’s start with a little weight lifting. Starting with a deadlift.”

            The teacher smirked and shook his massive head. “Honestly, don’t you know anything? Children like these aren’t ready for weightlifting! Besides, do you see any weights around here for them to lift?”

            The snide smirk on his face vanished as Undyne turned to him, a terrifying grin on her face. “You’re right. There aren’t any weights for the _children_ to lift. For _me_ on the other hand…” her grin stretched as he paled, “I see plenty of _dead weight_ I can lift.”

            He didn’t even have time to scramble back before she lunged at him.

            “First, the clean!” she shouted, grabbing him. Easily, she hauled the monster up over her chest; the students looked up in awe. “And then, the jerk!” Smoothly, she hoisted him up over her head.

            He kicked uselessly in the air. The students clapped.

            “After that,” she continued, her grin downright maniacal. She turned, aiming towards the far end of the gym’s basketball court. “We set the weights back down!” With one last roar, she hurled their gym teacher to the far side of the court.

            He flew through the air and slammed into the backboard of the basketball hoop. For a moment, his body slumped down and fell across the hoop.

            “Woo!” Undyne shouted, pumping her arms into the air. “Six points!”

            Chara frowned. “That’s football.”

            Undyne blinked. “Oh yeah.” She paused, thought about, and then shrugged. “Eh, it’s at least a three pointer.”

            At this point, the gym teacher groaned, his body still limp as it hung from the hoop. The backboard creaked ominously.

            Then it exploded.

            There were yelps of fear and delight as the glass rained halfway across the court as the backboard shattered and fell to the ground. The gym teacher smacked down, glass raining down on him as more of the backboard crumbled and fell. The hoop clattered to the ground, spinning on an edge before flopping over.

            The class clapped again.

            Chara buried their face into their hands. _I wonder. Is this what Frisk feels like to work with monsters?_

_Well, it’s probably not far off._

            Sighing, Chara started walking for the door.

            “Hey, where are _you_ going?” Undyne shouted.

            Chara paused and shot her a flat look. “To get the janitor.”

            Undyne looked at the mess at the far end of the court and shrugged. “Fair enough. But not you! You stay where I can see you.” She turned and randomly picked another student, ordering them to go get the janitor.

            Chara bit back another sigh and headed back to their original spot, not that it meant much anymore. Most of the students were clustered together, chatting excitedly about the mayhem. As Chara took their place, they began to quietly pray that time would pass quickly, so that lunch would come sooner and Frisk would call and tell them that their freedom was close at hand.

 

 

 

 

            _“So, bad news and good news,”_ Frisk began. _“Which do you want first?”_

            Chara glared at the wall before them. “Good.” Better to have good news that was untainted by bad news, or at least that’s what they thought. The bad news was going to ruin things anyway, might as well have the good in its purest form first.

            _“The good news is that one, we’re actually making a lot of headway for once in this discussion.”_

            Chara frowned. “That is unusual.”

_“It is. Secondly, Toriel made this chocolate mousse for lunch and she’s giving me the recipe so we can make some for ourselves later.”_

            That perked them up. “I’d like that.”

            _“Yeah, it doesn’t sound too difficult. We can do that this weekend if you want.”_

            “Sounds fine. So,” they said, glancing away as their stomach sunk. “What is the bad news?”

            _“We’re going to be late. Probably won’t get out of here until about four or five.”_

            Chara winced, insides twisting. They were going to have to spend the rest of the day with Undyne. They were going to have to pray that she stayed quiet and out of the way; after gym class, she’d been tossed out of the school and told to wait outside. Maybe she’d be so aggravated and bored, she’d just drop them off at home. No, probably not. But maybe she’d get distracted and call her wife and they could just hide out in their room or the kitchen and do homework until Frisk got back.

            They could handle this.

            Maybe.

            …

            _Maybe if I told Frisk about my worries_ —but no, they thought, shutting the line of thought down. They could do it. They could survive a few more hours alone. Everyone would be proud of them for their good behavior, Papyrus would praise them, and they would be fine. Completely fine.

            It was only a few more hours.

            Chara took a steadying breath. “Okay then. I will see you this afternoon.”

            Frisk sighed on the other end. _“God bless you, child. I swear, I’ll grab you a candy bar on the way home, alright? One for you and Asriel each.”_

They allowed themselves a small smile. “I want something with truffles in it.”

            Frisk laughed. _“I’ll see what I can do. Lots of love to the two of you, okay?”_

            Chara let Asriel say his own goodbyes before they hung up. _Just a few more hours_ , they thought, sliding their phone back into their school bag. They could handle Undyne—she couldn’t kill them, so that automatically put her head and shoulders above some people. They would be fine.

            Probably.

 

 

 

 

            Class let out at three in the afternoon and Chara dragged their feet for as long as they could before they finally found Undyne waiting for them. She’d been forced to wait at the far end of the courtyard under the vice principal’s orders. The vice principal had not been impressed by Undyne’s show of strength nor her flippant disregard for the repair bill he threatened her with. If Toriel had been there, she probably would have chewed Undyne out and sent her home while she took over looking after Chara.

            When she spotted them leaving the building, she straightened and started walking forward, meeting them in the middle of the courtyard. “Finally! What, you get detention to take this long? Your classmates are long gone.”

            Chara tried not to scowl. “I needed to collect my things. I have a lot of homework. I need to get home soon. So I can work on it.”

            “Ugh, homework,” she pulled a disgusted face. “Don’t miss those days. Well, fuck your homework! Come on, we’re going to the park.”

            Chara straightened, alarm bells ringing in their ears that sounded an awful lot like Asriel’s cries of dismay. “I told you. I need to go home.”

            “Bah! You’ll get home soon enough. Now come on. You guys didn’t have gym today, so you need to get your exercise in,” she shouted, grinning broadly. “Growing kids need exercise! Read an article about that once in Al’s medical journals. Boring as shit, but it agrees with me, so get your ass in gear and let’s go.”

            _Infuriating fish,_ they thought. “My mother would want me to _go home_ and do my homework before running off to exercise.”

            She paused to look at them. “Maybe,” she admitted, drawing the word out. “But I know your father would disagree.”

            Well, _that_ was a tactic that no one had tried with them yet. Mainly because in the past everyone knew that Asgore would agree to anything Toriel said when it came to their children. Also, anyone who’d spent time around the princes knew that the topic of their parents was not to be touched. _Well. Fuck her. Who does she think she is, trying to-_

_Chara, maybe we should just call Frisk. They’d come get us in a hurry. Hey, maybe they’d even be glad to have an excuse to leave that stupid meeting early! So, why don’t we-_

            _I. Will not. Give up._

Asriel fell silent for a long moment. _Um. If you’re sure._

 _I am,_ they thought, settling themselves down as best they could. _I have got this._ They looked up at her again. “I can see you were not hired by my father for your tact.”

            She snorted. “What use would the Captain of the Royal Guard have for tact? Stop being a baby and let’s get going.”

            As she started walking off, they were very tempted to just sit down on the ground of the courtyard and refuse to move. If she wanted them to join her so badly, she could carry them. But no, then she would probably complain to Frisk that Chara was being an unreasonable brat or something. Reluctantly, they followed her—slowly.

            “Am I going to have to hold your hand? Hurry up!”

 

 

 

 

            They got to the park in decent time; Undyne made good on her threat and tried to snatch their hand. Chara, however, was an expert at dodging attempts to touch them and managed to escape with their hand free, but she caught their sleeve and started tugging them along by that.

            Annoyed, Chara started to glare at their surroundings, but paused. The park was large and quiet, thankfully not too crowded. Well, except for a knot of people congregating around a cart. Looking at the people walking away from the cart, they saw tall stacks of ice cream—the vendor must have been very generous. He didn’t seem to have much of a selection, but he did at least have one type of chocolate.

            Suddenly, the park didn’t seem so bad anymore. “Pardon me,” they murmured, already reaching for their wallet in their book bag. If they remembered correctly, they should have a few dollars in there. More than enough for at least a small ice cream cone.

            “Uh, hold on, bucko,” Undyne said, grabbing them by the back of the shirt and hauling them back. She ignored Chara’s attempts to dislodge her hand—or she just didn’t notice it in the first place. Both were just as likely. “We’re not here for me to buy you sweets. We’re here to _train.”_     

            Chara bit back a growl and tried to squirm away. “Buying me anything is unnecessary! I have my own money. Let go!” When that failed to discourage her, they decided to try distracting her as they thought of a way to slip free. “And train for what, exactly?”

            “Train to be the baddest, toughest monster around!” she cackled. “I’m going to whip you into shape, so no one can dust you two. Starting with a little training run to get the blood going.”

            _Ugh, what is her obsession with making people run laps?_

 _I do not know. But it is patently stupid,_ they thought grimly back. Maybe they could just slip out of their shirt and make a run for it. They’d even worn a nice v-neck, so their head wouldn’t get caught. It was worth a shot. “Not interested.”

            Undyne sighed and, to their surprise, let them go. “Okay, how about this? Do the run and I’ll _think_ about getting you an ice cream cone.”

            Chara paused, considering this sudden, unlikely, generosity. _Feels like a trap._

 _It totally is,_ Asriel agreed instantly. _Don’t believe her for a second!_

 _But,_ they groused, _if we disagree, she will probably complain to Papyrus._

 _And Frisk,_ Asriel added gloomily.

            They grimaced. _And quite possibly our parents as well._

_So… you’re really going to do it?_

_I don’t have much choice in the manner, now do I._ Reluctantly, they squared their shoulders. “How far are we running?”

            Undyne looked around the park, frowning thoughtfully before turning back. “Once around the perimeter of the park should probably work.”

            Well, at least that didn’t sound completely awful. Hoping they wouldn’t regret it, they nodded. “Once around the park then.”

            “Great! Let’s get going then.”

            They reached into their backpack and pulled their phone out and offering the bag to her. “I need a place to stow this though,” they said, slipping their phone into their pocket.

            She rolled her eye and slung the backpack up onto her shoulder. “There are you—wait, did you pack bricks in here? Are all kids’ backpacks like this nowadays?”

            “Pretty much.”

            “Weight resistance training,” she mused with a wicked grin. “Well, maybe that school isn’t completely useless. Now! Start running!”

 

 

 

 

            The run did not turn out to be as awful as Chara feared—it was worse. The park was much larger than Chara had given it credit for and the path was considerably more windy then it would appear at first blush. And, of course, Undyne insisted they run every inch of the perimeter before she headed back to where they’d come in. The wretchedly dry heat did not help matters; there was hardly any green left to the grass and it was instead dull, dry brown. Chara felt as parched as the grass and was panting. The only comfort was the breeze, but even that seemed to snatch any moisture away.

            By the time they got back to the entrance, the sun had shifted in the sky, and yet Frisk had not called them yet. The meeting must have been running quite late. They did not have breath to call though—they were panting harshly, staying on their feet only because they were too stubborn to give in and sit down on the ground.

            Undyne, on the other hand, looked _refreshed_ by the run. “Ah, there, isn’t that better? I thought I was going to go crazy standing outside that stupid school all day, not able to do anything, but it was nothing a little light exercise couldn’t fix.”

            Chara, still panting, glared up at her. How was she not completely dried out? This was nearly as bad as running through Hotland. Did Alphys make her some new gadget to help her adjust to the dry conditions? Did that even make sense? Whatever. “Okay. We are done here. Correct?”

            She looked at them almost like she was surprised. “Done? Pfft, don’t tell me you’re _actually_ worn out from a little run like that, are you? Geez, I outta make you run laps with Alphys, but if I did that, you’d both wimp out super early.”

            “Does she know you call her a wimp?” they asked snidely.

            “Uh, _yeah_ ,” Undyne drawled, her tone soundly as if she’d really meant to saw was just a loud “duh”. Then she looked fond. “She calls me brute.” She looked weirdly happy about that.

            Chara grimaced; they had no interest in whatever sort of relationship weirdness they got up to on their own time. “You said that we would go around the park once. That was the deal.”

            “Well, now I’m _changing_ the deal.” She looked far too pleased with herself. “Some good old exercise won’t kill you.”

            Alright, fine. Time for argument number two. “You said I could get ice cream.”

            “I said I would _think_ about it.”

            “Well?”

            Her grin could have easily been mistaken for a sneer. “I’m _still_ thinking.”

            They considered her for a long moment, glaring hard as they finally caught their breath. Finally, they straightened. “Fine. Enjoy your run.” They turned and started stalking towards the ice cream vendor. “I will be getting my ice cream now.”

            “What? Hey! I’m not buying you anything just yet!” she snapped, grabbing them by the shirt again.

            Stubbornly, Chara stood their ground and pulled as hard as they could forward. “Your money is unnecessary! **_I_** have my _own_ money!”

            She rolled her eyes and tugged easily, making them stagger back. “Ugh, Frisk and Papyrus have been too soft on you kids for too long. Do they let you sass them this much? Don’t answer. Of course they do.” As they glared up at her, aghast, she went on. “Well, you can forget that with me! Come on! Let’s do at least two more laps around the park and this time we’ll head into the interior as well.”

            It was funny. Hadn’t Chara fully expected her to go back on her word? Hadn’t they thought this was a trap? And yet, they found themselves infuriated all the same. They felt their blood boil and magic gathered around them, aching to form into bullets. Their jaw was so tensed, they swore they could hear their teeth creaking. Their smile was rictus and unsettling.

            _That’s it,_ they thought, knuckles popping as they tensed their hands, _I’m going to find a stick and stab her other eye out._

_Chara!_

_She is evil, Asriel. She must be destroyed._

_I know she’s evil but you’re going to get us in trouble and then you’ll never get to have chocolate again._

Well. Asriel did have a point there. _Fine. I’ll just ruin her day then._

_That’s fair. She’s done her best to ruin ours._

_Glad we agree._

            “Move those feet, come on! I don’t want to hear any whining either.”

            Glaring at her back as she started to jog away, Chara reluctantly began to follow her. At least this route gave them a better look at what was in the park, to try and find something to start their revenge. As they brainstormed, they nearly tripped over their feet when something finally did catch their eye. Deeper into the park, far on their right, a group of people watched as some performers juggled flaming batons between each other. It was highly irresponsible, really, considering they were in the middle of near drought like conditions, with the ground parched and dry.

            It looked like a golden opportunity.

            _Asriel, I’m going to need you to run our body over to the group._

_Why me?_

_Because I don’t want to make us trip and bite half our tongue off._

_You’ve been doing a lot better lately,_ he told them charitably as he slid forward to take control while they slipped back. After taking a quick peek to see that Undyne was mostly focused on where she was running, Asriel turned and bolted straight towards the crowd. Behind him, he could hear Undyne’s shout of alarm, but she never had a chance to catch him. She’d only seen Chara’s slower gait, who preferred to take a careful stride; with Asriel, he was halfway across the grass before she even turned around.

            As soon as he neared the group, he ducked and wove his way into the crowd, people parting for him absently or jumping aside once they realized a little monster was next to them. As he shoved his way through, he shifted from heading straight to the center to angling off, hidden by a few unobservant crowd members. In the center of the crowd, three performers entertained. Two traded flaming batons and banter, while the last person taunted both of them while also talking directly to the crowd. The words they said sounded like a script long spoken, but one that was a delight for them to speak once more, their words bright and warm. The familiarity of their tones was in stark contrast to their juggling routines that amused the crowd.

            Of course, Undyne would barge in and ruin everything. Shoving people aside, she called their name until the performers stopped talking altogether. Asriel handed control over to Chara who did their best to stay hidden.

            At least the entertainers didn’t seem too angry; in fact, they looked more delighted than anything. Definitely out of towners. “Wow,” one gasped, eyes starry. “Oh, gosh, there really _are_ monsters just wandering around this town.”

            “Hey, uh—friend,” another began, stepping up to her. “I heard up until recently you guys were all stuck underground.”

            Undyne shot this guy a bemused, unimpressed look. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it. Look, have you seen-”

            “Wow!” one of the other performs gushed, stepping closer, her eyes starry. “Oh, I was hoping I’d meet one of you guys! This is so cool.”

            That threw Undyne off for a moment before she laughed. “Heh. You sound like my wife.” She turned, starting to search the crowd again; Chara ducked further behind some people’s backs.

            Luckily, they didn’t have to try hard; the crowd around them only grew more interested in Undyne. Members of the crowd, not just the performers now, began to pester her with questions. When she answered one question, always offhanded and distracted as she searched for them, three more questions were asked. Finally, when one of the performers just flatly asked if she’d like to join their circus—making Undyne cackle—Chara saw an opportunity.

            _Asriel. I have a plan. Will you help me?_

_Will it get us out of here fast?_

_Of course._

_Then I’m in! What do I need to do?_

            Letting him take control again, Chara directed him. With a tiny seed bullet, he knocked over the container of lighter fluid—actually an old dish detergent bottle. When it fell, a puddle of fluid began to drip out, quickly spreading along the sidewalk’s cracks towards the very dry grass. Once it touched, Asriel created a tiny ball of flame before flicking it towards the puddle. The second the flame hit the fumes, the fire caught and raced towards the grass.

            Instantly, the fire took off, consuming the under watered lawn.

            It didn’t take long for people to notice. One jumpy person yelped at the sudden heat that fanned out next to their leg. Once the attention was drawn to the fire, people began squawk and flee, frightened by the speed of which the fire grew and consumed.

            In the mayhem, Chara grinned and started to walk away. Honestly, it would be fine—despite how dry the grass is, the performers had buckets of water and fire extinguishers ready for just this sort of thing.

            What they had no way of knowing was that one of the crowd would have a backpack of fireworks—bought on discount from someone still trying to get rid of their stock from the Fourth of July—that they would drop in their panic to flee. There was no way to know that the flames would reach it before anyone noticed.

            Just because no one expect it, however, didn’t mean the bag didn’t instantly explode. Firecrackers screamed while a few bottle rockets took to the sky. People _really_ began to scream now as fireworks shot through the air. Chara turned just in time to see one head dead at them. Seeing it, Asriel took over and tried to blast it before it hit them—unfortunately, the fireball he tossed at it only made it explode. While they weren’t hurt, they were singed with soot and yelped when they fell backwards onto the ground, landing hard on their hands.

            Hissing, he examined his hand, wincing when he saw them bleed sluggishly. _Ah, man. That, uh, didn’t work liked I hoped._

 _At least you stopped it,_ Chara offered, taking control again. They hissed themselves when their hands throbbed as they tried to push themselves off the ground. Standing up, they paused to look at the chaos before them. People were still shrieking and running while a few remained, trying to put out the fires. Unfortunately, the fireworks had spread the fire more as a few bottle rockets had landed in trees and bushes, setting them alight.

            And there was Undyne, in the middle of it all.

            Laughing hysterically.

            Chara sighed. Honestly, that might be the most annoying part. Shaking their head, they turned and walked to the nearest bench they could find and sat down. What a mess. In retrospect, burning down half the park because Undyne stiffed them on ice cream probably was overkill. How much trouble was this going to get them into? Well, hopefully not much—Undyne was the one who seemed to be getting the biggest kick out of this. She was still laughing as people tried to snuff out the flames.

            Maybe they should just call Frisk and get this over with. Yes, Frisk would probably want to know about this anyways. Reaching into their pocket, Chara tapped the phone to unlock it, but just as they went to press the phone icon, the phone rang. Yelping, they nearly fumbled the phone. They caught it at the last moment, took a steadying breath, and accepted the call before holding it up to their face. “Hello?”

 _“Chara! There you are! I just got home, but neither you or Undyne are here. Frisk and Sans just got home as well and neither of them know where you are either.”_ There was a pause. _“Is that Undyne I hear laughing?”_

            Chara grimaced and looked up at the flames. “Yes. That is her. Um. We are at the park. The big park, with the dog park in it.”

            _“What are you doing there? Did Undyne take you there?”_

            “Yes. She thought we should,” they paused, reaching over to snuff out a flame that was growing closer to them on the bench. “She thought we needed exercise.”

            _“Exercise? You two get plenty of exercise! …why is she laughing so much?”_

            Further into the park, Undyne finally took pity on the improvised fire fighters and decided to send water to put out some of the fires—by destroying a fountain so water spilled everywhere. They sighed. “Papyrus, if I crush my crystal, can you just come get us? I would like to come home now.”

            _“I—yes? Is there trouble?”_

            “I want to come home.” They glanced back up to see the now damp people trying their best to use the now thoroughly broken fountain that was spewing water to put out more flames, spilling it all over as they went. “Also, bring Frisk. They might as well see this now.”

            Poor Papyrus, he truly sounded befuddled. _“I’ll be there presently.”_

            “Perfect. Thank you, Papyrus.” Without bothering to wait another moment, Chara reached up and crushed the distress crystal, sending a signal to Papyrus’s crystal.

            In the next moment, Papyrus appeared and promptly tensed at how messy they were. “Chara, are you-?” he paused, and looked around, taking in the fire, Undyne, and the humans still running around. Then he sighed and got out his phone. “Sans,” he said without preamble. “We _do_ need you here. Grab Frisk and come here.”

            Faintly, they could hear Sans talking on the other end. _“Is that Undyne laughing? And why does it sound like everything’s on fire?”_

            Even fainter, they heard Frisk’s flustered shout of **_“what?”_**

            Papyrus scowled. “Just get here.” He rattled off some strange numbers to Sans and then ended the call.

            Whatever the numbers meant, Sans and Frisk appeared instantly. They both froze, taking in the sight of the mayhem around them. “What the fuck,” Sans finally managed.

            It seemed the new arrivals had finally caught Undyne’s attention as she ran over and joined them. “Hey, when’d you all get here? Came to join the fun?”

            “Undyne, why the hell is the park on fire?” Frisk asked, sounding exhausted already.

            She rolled her eye. “Because it’s dry as hell out here? Don’t even try to make it sound like this is my fault. I don’t even like fire.” She paused to look back. “Although, it was pretty funny how fast all the humans ran once the grass went up in flames.”

            “But why is it _on_ fire?” Frisk tried again.

            “Accident. And it wasn’t even my accident, so calm the fuck down.”

            Sighing, Frisk shook their head and turned to look at Chara. They paused, eyes going wide for a moment before their lips started to twitch. To Chara’s intense annoyance, Frisk grinned at their dirty appearance. “Well, looks like _you’ve_ had a rough day.”

            Without a word, Chara rose, walked over to them, and then tossed their arms around Frisk’s waist, burying their face into Frisk’s middle. Frisk froze and everyone turned to look at them as Chara buried their face deeper into Frisk’s stomach.

            “Aw, what’s the matter, punk? You tired?” Undyne tried to jeer, but the bite in her voice fell flat as even she looked a little charmed.

            Frisk too might have been taken aback by the affection right up until they got a look at their shirt under Chara’s face and bit back a sigh at the giant soot and dirt streak they were rubbing into it. With a sigh, they reached down and patted Chara’s shoulders. “Oh. I’m sure they’re fine,” they answered, voice blunt. They looked to Sans. “I think we should get back.”

            He nodded. “Yeah, I don’t feel like taking care of this mess right now.”

            Frisk turned back to Undyne and Papyrus. “Look, the cops will be here soon. Either stay and tell them what happened or just hurry home. Maybe it’ll blow over quicker once the fire fighters show up, but I wouldn’t be shocked if someone tries to stick us with the bill for all this.”

            “Hey, the only think I did was break the fountain a little to put out the fire,” Undyne growled tossing Chara’s backpack to Sans, who nearly dropped, grumbling about the weight. “This is not my fault.”

            Frisk winced. “Ah. Well. Sans, we’re going home. Later, you two.”

            Without another word, Sans reached over and grabbed their arm. The three of them vanished in an instant, leaving Papyrus and Undyne standing there. For a moment, they were silent as they turned to watch the fire.

            “Busy day?” Papyrus finally ask, grinding out a bit of embers as it drifted down by his foot.

            “Eh, kinda boring actually. Well, the going to school part,” she shrugged. “Never did like school.”

            “The kids didn’t give you any trouble, did they?” Papyrus asked, looking a touch nervous. He hoped she would only have good things to say—his charges were very well behaved children after all!

            “Them? You think a couple snot nosed punks are going to give _me_ trouble?” she sneered, but it quickly changed into a grin. “Nah. They were pretty quiet, really. I’d almost forgotten what being around kids was like until now.”

            Papyrus considered her. “Did you have fun?”

            “You know, I actually did.” She fell quiet and Papyrus almost thought she was done talking. Then she laughed. “Actually, you know what?” Instead of waiting for him to ask, she just laughed again. “I had a shit ton of fun! And you know what else? Maybe I’d like to do some more of this.”

            He stared at her. “…look after the princes?” He tried to keep his confusion and worry from his voice—the kids were his duty, but they were also an honor. But if anyone could take them from him, Undyne was sure to be one of those people.

            “Nah, those are your kids. I think I’d like a couple of my own!”

            Papyrus’s jaw fell open.

            She didn’t seem to notice his lack of a response. Instead, she was distracted as she grinned at the fire until her phone started to ring. “Uh, give me a moment.” She got her phone out and frowned at the caller id before answering the call. “Uh, Captain Undyne speaking.”

            _“Captain,”_ Toriel’s frosty voice rang like a bell tolling a death knell. _“Would you care to explain to me why one of my teachers is in the hospital and why one of the basketball backboards is completely broken in my school’s gym?”_

            Undyne paled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, accidentally forgot to post the notes for this. Anyways, this chapter was a request from kawaiiloverq who wanted to see Undyne babysitting. I wanted to do more with her and Chara and they sounded like a hilarious combination.
> 
> Small note--if you've never heard of a squish before, I don't blame you. They're platonic crushes. Have you ever met someone you just *really* wanted to befriend, to have that person think well of you? Like, say you an author you like or a celebrity you think you'd like to hang out with really badly. That's a squish. Chara really admires Papyrus and wants him to think well of them. I thought it'd be a funny parallel to Asriel's little crush on Frisk.
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long. I think the next few chapters will probably be shorter--I need to reign in on my word counts. Maybe I'll get done faster that way. Thanks for your patience.


	38. Transition Phase

            “You are _not_ going to sit in this god forsaken bedroom for the rest of your life,” Papyrus declared, reaching down to yank the blankets off Sans’ bed and pulling him upward. Sans winced at the bright light from the lamp after the comforting darkness of the blankets, but Papyrus didn’t seem to notice or care about Sans’s discomfort. “I did not let you waste your life away in that pigsty back in New Home, what on earth makes you think I’m going to let you do that here?”

            Sans had only stayed quiet because no matter how much Papyrus hated him he would have never been able to look him in the face and say what he really thought. He could never say _“you don’t get it. It’s my fault. It was my experiment, my math, my plans. If it wasn’t for me, the accident wouldn’t have happened. If I’d just let those plans die like I should have then he’d be here._

_“If I weren’t here, he’d be here. If I’d never been here, then maybe…”_

            Well. Papyrus never cared for what he called ‘useless hypotheticals’.

            “You’re getting a job,” Papyrus growled, shaking him. “And I have the perfect one in mind.”

 

 

 

            He should have stayed in New Home, back in his old apartment. He’d been working so hard on trying to compile the data from their brother’s servers, recreating the old experiments, that it’d almost felt like things were normal. When he’d been buried up to his jawbone in scattered data, he’d been able to work mindlessly through the data. And then he hit the dead end, chased the final white rabbit until it vanished in the lines of code. When his new superior told him the news about his probation, it had just felt like the final sign.

            His bed had seemed so comforting at first. Just a quiet, soft place to ease into silence. It didn’t last long, but at least the physical comfort was distracting enough. When he did sleep, it ended too soon. When he woke up, he’d lie as still as he could, praying for sleep to reclaim him. He’d give up everything he owed just to stay asleep—he might have even given up the servers if it meant never waking up again.

            And then Papyrus broke down his door down—literally. His landlord had been pissed about that, but he wasn’t about to fight Papyrus about it. He didn’t quite remember how Papyrus got all his stuff ready to go, but Sans did remember him fighting to save the servers when Papyrus wanted to leave them.

            He had vague memories of being dragged by Papyrus through New Home, then of the ferry ride to Snowdin. Being in Snowdin should have alarmed him—he hadn’t been back there since that fateful day a decade before. The rest of the Canine Unit could have been anywhere. But he felt and remembered nothing of Papyrus towing him through the town and then shoving him into the house.

            He didn’t remember Papyrus forcing him to start unpacking, watching him like a warden, snapping whenever Sans started to stall out. He did remember that once Papyrus left to go start supper, Sans crawled into the bed he just set up and went to sleep almost instantly for once. He had no idea why Papyrus didn’t kick him awake once he was finished cooking, but the leniency didn’t last the next morning.

            After that, Papyrus forced him out of bed and dragged him out into the snowy woods. He only really felt awake as they walked past Dogeressa and Dogamy. Their low growls, full of malice, startled him into clarity. Still, he didn’t fight his brother as they traveled deeper. They walked past two more of the Canine Unit, Papyrus’s own sentry station, and another station that looked as if it had stood long empty before they stopped.

            “Where the fuck are we?” he finally asked, gazing at the snowy landscape. He’d never gotten this deep into Snowdin’s Forest; the world seemed frozen, in all senses of the word. There was no wind in the trees, which unlike the pine trees before, these trees were tall, thin, and bare. How had such trees ever grown in this forest at all? Their brother might have been able to tell them once, but-

            Sans forced himself to forget that line of thought.

            Papyrus cleared his throat. “We’re at the edge of the Forest. A little west of here is the Ruins. The door is locked and you can’t get in.” He paused, brushing off some snow off of what Sans had first assumed was a tiny shack but he now realized was just a _very_ old sentry station. “It’s quiet out here, but it’s an important location. So far, every human that’s entered the Underground has come from beyond the door. Undyne thinks that means there has to be an entrance or hole into the Underground inside the Ruins, but since the door is locked, we can’t tell.”

            Sans blinked at him. “…right. So why are we out here?”

            Papyrus turned back around and put his fists against his hips. “I got you a job as a sentry. This will be your station.”

            _What?_ “What?” he repeated aloud. “Why would—that doesn’t-”

            “Hardly anyone comes out this way, except sentries. The Canine Unit never comes out this far if they can help it.” He glanced away. “They don’t seem to want to linger around Doggo’s station.” The air grew oppressive as neither brother could find the strength to look at each other after that. Finally, Papyrus squared his shoulders and lifted his head. “So! As we need a new sentry and you don’t have anything better to do, I don’t see why _you_ can’t sit out here for a couple of hours and stay out of trouble.”

            Awhile ago, Sans might have been offended to being bullied into taking a job that he had absolutely no interest in—what did Sans care for surveillance or humans or even protecting the Underground? What did any of it matter?

            But that was before. Before when he had a job he enjoyed, before when he respected his and the others’ work. Before when their brother-

            Before he ruined it all-

            Well. Maybe Papyrus had a point—his skull ached a little less out here in the fresh air. It was quiet and still and secluded. And all he had to do was sit in the station and keep a lookout. As jobs went, this one was even easier than his old job. There were worse things in the world.

            (There was also much better.)

            Sans shrugged. “Whatever.”

            There was a moment of silence, something in the air making him tense until he finally glanced back to Papyrus. When he did look, he caught the tail end of an emotion on his brother’s  face before it was carefully banished from sight. He had looked, if only for the briefest second, disappointed.

            _What the fuck was **that** look for? What, what did you want me to say, you prick—no? Did you want me to stand here and whine and bitch like that was going to change anything? Just what the fuck do you **want** from me?_

            But then Papyrus shook his head and the motion made Sans forget why he’d cared at all. “Look,” Papyrus began again. “Just sit here and keep an eye out. Once an hour or so, walk from here along the path until you see the door to the Ruins, and see if you see anything suspicious. I think you can manage _that_ at least.”

            Well, _someone_ was being a bigger prick than usual today. But his flicker of ire died fast and Sans walked over to the station and entered it through its side door. There was no chair inside—he’d have to bring one tomorrow. _If_ he decided to return tomorrow. He looked up at his brother, eyebrow ridges raised.

            While he didn’t look particularly happy, Papyrus didn’t snap at him again. “Your shift ends in eight hours. When you’re done, meet me outside my station.”

            _Why, so you can walk me home? You’re the **youngest** brother, you dick._ He almost said the words aloud; he might have if the phrase ‘youngest brother’ hadn’t caught in his thoughts and started to repeat like a broken record. “Fine,” he managed, closing his eyes. God, he was tired. He could fall asleep on his feet at this rate.

            Papyrus paused; Sans could practically hear him gritting his teeth and clenching his hands before he abruptly turned and stalked away. “And don’t even think about slacking or wandering off!”

            Sans watched as his brother’s back vanished from sight. Once he was gone, he closed his eyes again and sighed.

            _Fucking ridiculous._

 

 

 

 

            After the hours passed, Sans came to the realization that he owed his brother something of an apology. He’d always thought Papyrus a little too energetic to be able to stomach tedium well. But if his brother had managed to survive these last few years while supporting himself as a sentry, then his brother must have had _some_ hidden wells of patience.

            Being a sentry was one of the most goddamn boring things he’d ever done in his life, and this was coming from a guy who had often as a child been forced to sit by himself, alone in the lab, while his older brother tinkered away at something. At least he’d been interested in watching whatever Dings had been working on. But standing in the station was so boring that Sans could literally feel his skull go numb from the cold. Silently, he cursed himself for never getting a proper cold weather coat before now—his joints were aching and his teeth started to chatter.

            At least the door to the Ruins provided a little distraction. At first, he had stood in the station for hours before the boredom got to him and he remembered he was supposed to check out the door to the Ruins. Bored, he slid out of his station and went to go check out this door. Like his brother had said, he found it easy enough. Of course, there’d been no signs of anyone coming or going, so he just got down to investigating the door itself. It was big and grand and very, very solid. Tapping against it, he felt the heavy resistance of stubborn magic on the very stone of the door.

            He remembered the old man telling them about the door once—once upon a time, it’d led to the ruins of Home, the original city the monsters had built after being sealed away. Over hundreds of years, monsters outgrew the city and the Ruins and happily left it. Then the princes died, the Edict was announced, and the Queen vanished in the night. Dings had hypothesized that perhaps the Queen had returned here, to the empty spaces of the Ruins. Sans had always thought that it sounded kind of stupid—who would want to return to the place that would remind them of some of the worst parts of their captivity? He’d always thought she’d hurled herself into the Abyss of Waterfall, hence why’d there’d never been any sign of her.

            And then a mysterious seal had appeared on the exit of the Ruins. It happened shortly after the Green soul had fallen to Asgore. Papyrus himself had been the one to discover the seal on the door and had sent word to Undyne. Their brother had eventually left to go check out the seal himself, and he’d admitted that whoever had placed it had to be extremely powerful—perhaps even enough to rival Asgore. Not many monsters were known to have that kind of power, which left a lingering awkwardness when Dings had to go tell Asgore about it.

            No one could get past the seal. The door had been too thoroughly locked before, but after that it’d been nearly as impossible to bypass as the actual Barrier. There’d been a little talk about breaking the seal to see what was going on inside, but Asgore had refused to fund the project and told them to focus on the Barrier instead.

            Even though he knew it was pointless, Sans still sent a surge of magic into the door, testing the strength of the seal. Instantly, his magic was backhanded back at him. He yanked his hand away, shaking off the painful tingles that rattled his hand. Well, the seal lived up to its reputation at least. After a moment, though, he put his hand back to the door and looked thoughtfully at it.

            The door was _warm_ —that meant two things. One, his bones must be seriously cold for him to notice warmth of any sort. Two, some _thing_ was on the other side of the door, providing warmth. A fire? The stone of the door was too thick for it to be body warmth unless there was a fire elemental on the other side, like the one that ran the local bar. He doubted it was purely ambient heat from the Ruins itself as the wall surrounding the door wasn’t that warm and the little warmth it did have faded fast. Perhaps there was a furnace of some sort? A tunnel, channeling the head towards the door?

            But then, what did any of this matter? It was just a fucking door.

            “Why did I agree to this?” he grumbled, shoving his hands back into his pockets. Turning, he stalked away from the door, still mentally grumbling. It would be his luck that Papyrus would come check on him only to find the station empty while he stood here inspecting a locked door that no one had opened in years.

            After the warmth of the door, he’d noticed how cold his bones had really become as he walked back to his station.  His hands steadily ached and it was painfully distracting; did Papyrus ever get such aches? Well, if he had, he probably wouldn’t say so, but then he certainly hadn’t seemed to mind wandering around in the cold. Wait, had Papyrus been wearing a coat that morning? Ugh, if Dings ever found out, then he would—

            Sans paused, pulling his hands back out and clenching them into fists.

            Well. It didn’t matter because Dings wasn’t going to find out now, would he?

            For a moment, Sans could imagine that he could still feel the grip of blue magic, powerful and familiar, as his brother gripped him with it before tossing him to safety. He could still remember as the old man reached around his console before smashing a button on its face. And then, just before the containment doors sealed off the room, he could still see their brother, struggling to remain upright from the pull of gravity, and yet still so resolute.

            And then-

            The world around him grew dim as a wave of bloodlust rolled over him, stopping Sans in his tracks. Opening his eyes, he looked up and saw what could only reasonably be called a flying fish, the body as long as Papyrus was tall, hovering in the air above him. The fish smirked down at him, flapping his fins—wings? Fings?—lazily.

            “Hah! Well, what do you know, there really _is_ a new sentry stationed out here. I came all this way to grace you with my presence and you weren’t even here to greet me.” The fish huffed and snapped its tailfins like a whip. “Lazy _and_ rude.”

            Sans narrowed his eye sockets as he shoved his hands back into his pockets. _What an arrogant little pissant. This really isn’t my day._ “Funny. I don’t remember anything about a welcoming committee. My _apologies_ , sir,” he drawled.

            To his bemusement, the fish didn’t seem to pick up on the sarcasm. “Well, at least you can recognize when you’re outclassed, loser.”

            _What an asshole._ “And you are?”

            That made the fish twitch, his whole body contorting with the motion. “Uh, are you really so stupid? You’re really so idiotic as to come out here without knowing who’s in charge? Well, listen up, idiot, because I’m only going to explain this once. The name’s Glyde, and the strongest monster in this forest, so you better start showing me some respect.”

            _Fuck, what an egomaniac._ Even Papyrus would think he was going too far. “Okay, look, Clyde-”

            Glyde froze. “It’s **_Glyde!”_**

            “Guide, right, whatever,” he bit back a snicker at Glyde’s outraged expression. “Do you need something in particular or what? I got a job to do here.”

            The fish was shaking with fury as he moved forward to shove his face into Sans. “I don’t think you know _who_ you’re dealing with, shit stain.”

             Sans gave him a flat stare. “Enlighten me.”

            “You know this station here, this little pile of sticks you call your work place?” he began, jerking a fin in the direction of Sans’s sentry station.

            Despite the fact this question was obviously supposed to be hypothetical, Sans grinned as he answered. “Actually, I’d say it’s more like some wood planks being held together with a hope and a prayer, but go on.”

            Glyde was practically vibrating in rage. “You ever wonder why it’s been sitting empty?”

            Hell, he’d only arrived that morning and he hadn’t even known he was going to be a sentry in the first place, let alone station here. Still, he decided to play along. “Constantly.”

            “Well, you’re looking at the reason why, idiot.”

            Sans raised an eyebrow ridge. “Is that a fact?”

            “Yeah, it is. Used to be a real dumb mutt around here, name was Doggo. Used to be part of the Enforcers.” His grin stretched wide, revealing an unsettling straight set of teeth for a fish’s mouth. “And then I killed him.”

            Sans didn’t know whether he should laugh himself sick or kill him out of principle. This little idiot had the audacity to try and claim not only that had he killed Doggo—him, this stupid loser, had the gall to claim this to Sans, the true cause for Doggo’s death, not that Glyde knew that—but that this decrepit station was his? The station had probably been around for at least fifty years, not to mention Doggo’s station was very obviously the other empty station further back into the forest.

            Sans wasn’t just dealing with a moron—he was dealing with a grade a, pure asshole idiot who couldn’t even bother to come up with a decent lie to make himself look better, so he was doubly a dumbass.

            Really, when it came down to it, he was just too stupid to live.

            Sans let his grin change into a sneering smirk. Well, maybe teaching this guy a little lesson would brighten his day. At least the world would have one less dumbass in it.

            “Wow. That’s quite the story.” He allowed Glyde to nod a little, pleased with himself, before going on. “Obviously, it’s a load of horse shit, but it’s okay, _Eugene_. We all have rough days.”

            For a moment, Glyde looked like something in his brain had shorted out. Then he opened his mouth and a bellow of pure indignant rage poured out as star shaped bullets filled the air. “ _IT’S **GLYDE!”**_

            _Huh_ , he thought, his irises growing wide in his sockets, _perhaps the dumbass isn’t completely skill-less_. He did his best to weave around the wave of bullets, even if they seemed never ending. As the wave finally slowed down, he sent his own wave of bullets, shattering the remains of the wave. It took him three bullets to take down just one of Glyde’s, a worrisome sign. The idiot really _wasn’t_ just _all_ bluff after all.

            Perhaps Glyde realized Sans’s trouble after all as he was quickly back to smirking. “Ha! You see? Bet you regret your shitty attitude now, huh?”

            Sans scoffed, tucking his left hand behind his back, letting magic swirl around it. “Well, you’re partially right. I _do_ regret something. I regret letting you start talking in the first place.” Before Glyde could start shouting or grandstanding again, Sans flexed his hand and half a dozen Gaster Blasters appeared in a ring, spiraling around Glyde. The fish barely had time to flinch in surprise before the first Blaster opened its maw and released its beam. In turn, the other Blasters followed suit. For a moment, Glyde disappeared into the light of the beams. Once the Blasters finished frying him, Glyde continued to flinch and writhe as the Karmic Retribution took its toll.

            And then, abruptly, Glyde stopped wincing. “Ah, what the hell was all that?! Are you trying to, like, _paper cut_ blast me to death? What kind of attack was that?”

            Sans blinked, taken aback. Then he grit his teeth to trap a groan behind his teeth. For Glyde to be so uninjured, that could only mean that for all his boasting, he actually had a mostly low LOVE. Without high levels of LV, his Karmic Retribution was at best half as powerful as it could be.

            For all the damage he’d done, he would have been just as well off to make a bone club and start pummeling him with it. “You stupid son of a bitch,” he huffed, straightening. “Have you even killed five people? You come out here to pick a fight, but I’ve seen Woshuas with more impressive stats than yours.”

            Glyde’s jaw dropped, but Sans could see sudden desperation behind his eyes as he glanced around, probably afraid someone could have heard the truth. “How dare you, you—you—you bogus little creep!”

            Sans gave him an unimpressed look. Bogus? Creep? Was that the best he could do?

            “You liar! Weirdo! Oh, I’m really going to teach you the meaning of regret now!”

            Sans rolled his eyes. “I’m shaking in my shoes here.”

            In disgusted outrage, Glyde began to toss wave after wave of star shaped bullets. Growling his frustrations through his teeth, Sans did his best to dodge and fire back, having to whittle Glyde’s health down the old fashioned way.

            And while he did tackle a good chunk of Glyde’s health away, he was also taking his own hits as well. His health had never been great, lackluster and worrisome at the best of times, and recently had been _far_ from the best of times. As fast as he could knock Glyde’s health down, his own was falling faster and he only had so many healing items on hand to keep him from crumbling to dust.

            He just used off the last of his cigarettes when Papyrus wandered up the path and spotted him. The distraction almost cost him his head when Glyde sent more bullets at him.

            When Papyrus saw this, he narrowed his eye sockets and summoned up a wave of his own bullets. Without a word, he sent them slamming into Glyde’s back, making him gasp as most of his health vanished in a second. As he groaned and wavered in place, Papyrus scowled and dropped his hand.

            “Snide! I thought I told you to leave the sentries alone to work!” Papyrus snapped as Glyde twisted around to glare at him. Sans would have chuckled at Glyde’s indignation at the wrong name, but he doubted Papyrus had meant to do it on purpose. “Stop playing around or you’re going to find yourself a pile of dust scattered across the Forest’s floor.” While he let the fish seethe, Papyrus looked at Sans. “And you, what are you doing letting him talk you into fighting? You know that you-”

            **“It’s. _GLYDE!!”_ ** Glyde roared, startling both brothers as not a wave of bullets appeared, but a veritable sea of stars surrounded them, the air choked as star bullets filled every inch they could. Sans froze, trying not to brush a single one, but Glyde wasn’t done yet. As the bullets swarmed the air, Glyde kept shouting. “STOP IGNORING ME, YOU ASSHOLES! I’m too good for this! WHY DON’T YOU TWO. **JUST. _DIE!”_**

 _Oh, fuck,_ Sans thought, watching as the bullets began to pulse and ricochet through the air. It’d only be a matter of time before the bullets would start landing on him and Papyrus—Papyrus could handle a few hits, but even he would feel the sting soon. And if too many hit Sans—that’d be it.

            And then Sans’s world skipped a beat.

            It was just a startled shout from Papyrus, just his name called out across the gap between them. And yet, for a moment, it wasn’t Papyrus the sentry, the almost adult, standing there, calling his name. It was another moment, the two brothers standing in the snow, an enemy on the attack between them, his brother calling his name. It was Papyrus, young and sweet and innocent, untainted by Sans’s foolishness. The years were rolling back like some unusually kind god had turned back time to give him another chance to save his little brother.

            One last chance to do things right.

            Risking hitting some stray bullets, Sans through his arms out above his head. Gaster Blasters filled the air around and behind them, some shattering instantly where they smacked against Glyde’s stars, but most being far enough back to not break instantly. Swinging his arms down, his magic pulsed in both of his sockets, signaling to the Blasters to start firing. Many beams winked out as they struck star bullets, but when one Blaster faded out, another appeared to take its place. The trees lit up with red light, the snow bouncing back the light until it looked like a red start was shining in the far reaches of the Forest.

            The light faded after a moment, as did Sans’s strength. He collapsed to his knees as his magic gave out and his Blasters vanished. Before him, all of Glyde’s bullets were gone.

            For a moment, Glyde himself hovered in the air, stunned. Then the Karmic Retribution kicked in and he began to writhe in pain as his body was pummeled by bursts of pain. And then, almost anticlimactically, Glyde’s body burst into dust that dropped to the ground.

            Silence. Sans tried to catch his breath as he panted, but the sight of the dust drifting to the ground kept distracting him. He’d done it—it’d been a while since he’d had to kill another monster, and the first in a long time that he’d mostly just beaten by sheer force. With his weak attack, he usually tricked his opponents into hurting themselves; with Glyde, he’d done the dirty work all his own. Faintly, he could feel the faint chill as his LV went up, another kill adding to his count. It was hard to really mind though.

            He’d done it. He’d stopped that scumbag from hurting his brother. At least he’d kept one brother from—from being lost. Closing his eyes, he briefly allowed himself a chance to savor that small victory before he opened them again to really check on Papyrus.

            When he saw his brother, he first noted that there didn’t seem to be a mark on him. Relishing that relief, he looked—really looked—at his brother’s face and into his gaze for the first time.

            Like cold water spilling over him, he flinched at the look on Papyrus’s face. There was no joy, no relief there. Not even a tiny flicker of pleasure—he _had_ defended him and himself, hadn’t he? Shouldn’t that make Papyrus happy? But apparently it didn’t, as Papyrus only grimaced and shuddered. The mental image of his younger brother, brought back to him in the heat of the battle, shattered as reality rushed in.

            He looked at Sans like he was one of the damn cats who’d pissed in a shoe or knocked something down. He looked _disappointed_ and Sans was pretty sure that the thing he was disappointed most with was Sans.

            Whatever relief or satisfaction he’d felt died instantly. Shame grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed down, as if to force him to kneel down, to beg for forgiveness. _Forgiveness for what though?_ Some angry part of his mind snapped. For saving them? For defending them?

            Papyrus slowly shook his head and began walking forward, giving the pile of dust a wide berth as he walked towards his brother. “Sans, that was the stupidest thing you could have done.” He said it so simply, so matter of fact.

            Sans grit his teeth and tried to resist a shudder. “Oh? Should I just let him attack us?”

            The retort actually gave Papyrus pause; his little brother considered him silently, his gaze hard. Finally, he continued forward again, stomping over before reaching down and yanking Sans up to his feet. “We’re going home.”

            The sudden change in position almost surprised him into missing the words. “But—my shift’s not done yet-”

            “It is,” Papyrus snapped back and then began to drag his brother along behind him, still avoiding the dust that was starting to drift away on the wind. “We are going home. Now.”

            Sans opened his mouth, but after a moment, shut it again. Where could he even begin? What questions were even the important ones to ask? And, more than that, which ones would Papyrus answer at all? Clenching his fists futilely, Sans glared down at the snow and let his brother tug him home while his conflicted emotions rolled around in him like a tempest whipping up the sea into a frenzy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a request from alextisgr8 on ff.net who wanted a scene with Sans fighting, going all out. Probably not as badass as say Papyrus or Undyne, but I always headcanoned that one of the reasons canon!Sans is such a difficult enemy is that you've racked up such high LV that the Karmic Retribution hurts you a lot, while in a neutral run, it wouldn't be as effective. Also, the other big part of why that fight is so hard, the way it really starts to fuck with the physics of the game (you have to straight up cheat to beat him). But Sans has only recently gained his game breaking powers in this chapter, so he doesn't know how to best use them yet. This chapter is set shortly after the accident in Waterfall that sent Gaster to the void, but before Gaster eats Sans's eye, hence the brief mention that he uses both eyes here. His health is still higher here as well; it wouldn't really get bad until after Gaster attacks Sans.
> 
> This was a weird little chapter that couldn't decide what it wanted to be for awhile. Eventually, I just chopped off the original ending that wasn't going anywhere and decided to go with this. You didn't miss much--Papyrus ended up giving Sans the workroom, hoping it'd encourage him to keep getting out of bed more and Sans would start to think about investigating Waterfall for clues about what happened to Gaster. But those things don't go with this chapter, so I cut them.


	39. Spar Like You Mean It

            “I,” Asriel began, “ _refuse_ to let Undyne train me.”

            Frisk had no idea if they should chuckle or sigh over that. Next to them, Papyrus was still sulking about the fact Asgore and Toriel had both passed on having him be the princes’ training instructor. Honestly, while Frisk understood tradition and all that, they still thought it was nonsense not to just let Papyrus do it. He was careful, precise, trustworthy, and most importantly the kids both trusted him.

            Traditionally, the royal heir would be trained by their parents; given their current situation, it was far more likely that Asriel’s fire magic would turn into snowfall. A few months might have passed since the Barrier fell, but Asriel barely tolerated being in a room alone with his parents, let alone having them actually point a bullet in his direction. So, according to tradition, the person who was supposed to train the heir if the monarchs couldn’t for some reason was the Captain of the Royal Guard.

            Even Asgore looked a little sheepish— _heh_ , Frisk chuckled mentally, _I’ll have to tell Sans that one later_ —after he mentioned that little piece of trivia.

            “Well. Undyne’s already very busy,” Toriel murmured with a sense of diplomacy Frisk could admire.

            “Too busy to set aside time and attention that Asriel needs for a proper education,” Frisk added. On their other side, Asriel relaxed some; they reached out and gave his shoulders a squeeze, earning them a relieved smile.

            Toriel looked thoughtful. “Perhaps Gerson could do it. He is the former Captain.”

            Asriel shuddered and leaned over so his side was smashed up against Frisk’s. “No. Nuh uh.”

            Frisk frowned and reached down to rub his arm soothingly. “Him too, huh?”

            Asriel closed his eyes and ducked his head against their side. Poor Flowey had accidentally run afoul of almost every monster he’d ever met even if it was just once. Asriel still had to deal with those terrible memories and nightmares.

            And Frisk had a feeling that all this talk was probably bring up terrible things that would haunt Asriel’s dreams again tonight. Frisk gave his shoulder one last squeeze and looked back up to Toriel and Asgore. “Look, I’m not sure now’s a good time for this. Perhaps what we need is a _temporary_ teacher.”

            They noticed that both Asriel and Papyrus perked up at that, but Asgore and Toriel only looked thoughtful. “It’s still unusual,” Asgore murmured, but there was something familiar about that tone—it was the sort of tone that if he was anything like Frisk’s Asgore meant that he was willing to concede something if it meant getting out of an uncomfortable discussion.

            It was a good sign; Toriel, on the other hand, was harder to read. She drummed her claws delicately against the table, careful not to mar the polish. “Perhaps a few… introductory lessons to catch Asriel and Chara up to speed would do for now,” Toriel said at last.

            Asriel sat up in his chair so fast he almost dislodged Frisk’s arm on his shoulder. “Papyrus could do that!”

            To Frisk’s relief, they saw both parents smile. “Yes,” Toriel finally said. “I think that would work.”

 

 

 

 

            Rather than use the Royal Guard training grounds, where Asriel had once began his combat training a century before, Papyrus insisted they train in Waterfall, in the same place he trained with Undyne. Monsters feared the treacherous muddy grounds of the marshes, where an enemy could lie in wait or where one bad step could mean a twisted ankle; for Papyrus and Undyne, it meant a safe place to train. And as Papyrus knew some good dry patches, it meant a good place for Asriel and Chara as well.

            The first day they all tramped out through the marshes, Frisk let Papyrus lead Asriel to one of these steady pieces of ground before they found the driest bits they could find and plopped down on the ground to watch. Sans dropped down next to them, put his back against their side, and then promptly closed his eyes as if to nap. Frisk was tempted to shove him off, but instead chuckled and gave his skull an affectionate pat before turning back around to see Papyrus and Asriel began.

            The lesson began with Papyrus going over the simplest of stuff—terminology, then the forms, and the easiest exercises. At least he didn’t force Asriel to linger over certain steps. Once Asriel proved that he could remember something, Papyrus had him moving along to the next step.

            Watching them, Frisk had to smile. It was a little strange but oddly nostalgic, watching them, like Frisk was looking into the past. Their Papyrus—their other self’s Papyrus—had eagerly showed them a thing or two before Toriel and Asgore had stepped in. For a while, their parents had taken turns teaching Frisk how to defend themselves. Once they were a little older, Toriel finally gave in and let Undyne take over Frisk’s training.

            Asriel startled them out of their reminiscences as he shouted to them. “Frisk! What did you think of me?”

            Frisk grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up. “You’re doing great, bud! Pretty soon, you’ll be as tough as Undyne herself.”

            Asriel beamed as Papyrus smiled and ruffled Asriel’s head. “Our princes are impressive indeed. Still, I think some practice is a good place to start.” The taller skeleton looked up at them and gave them a pointed look. “You could do with a few practice spars yourself. I haven’t seen you do any exercising since you got here.”

            Frisk laughed. “Oh no! Sans, Papyrus is calling me out!”

            “Mm, yeah, good luck with that,” Sans mumbled, eyes still closed.

            Papyrus stalked over towards them, hands on his hips. “I’m being serious. You could at least go on a run once a day! If you had any muscles before you came here, they’re surely nothing but flab now.”

            “Oh, have you been scoping me out now?” When he shook his head, they laughed. “It’s not nice to pick on us people who have actual meat on our bones. Just because you’re perpetually skinny doesn’t mean you can tease me about my body.”

            “Don’t avoid the subject. You should train too. Just because you got lucky when you first came here and had help to get by, that doesn’t mean you can just slack off.”

            “Harsh,” they observed mostly to Sans. “He makes it sound like I just bumbled my way along.”

            “You kinda did,” Sans shot back. “But you are pretty good at evasions.”

            Papyrus snorted. “Well, that’s one thing you have going for you. But my point stands. I bet you’ve gotten so rusty, you wouldn’t be able to evade a single bullet now.”

            _Oh, bother. I better just get this over with,_ they thought with a wry grin. “Well, Papyrus,” they began with a sigh, “would you like to be my sparring partner and we can see just how bad I’ve gotten?”

            Next to them, Sans twitched hard, but Papyrus smirked. “As amusing as the idea is, do you _honestly_ think you could keep up with me?”

            Their grin widened. “Only one way to find out. Besides, I fought almost all of my other friends. You can join a special, elite club called ‘the people who have kicked Frisk’s ass at least once’.”

            “Yeah, I’m not so sure about this plan,” Sans announced, looking suddenly very awake.

            “Why, not sure who to cheer for?” They grinned as they shrugged him away with their elbow. “Don’t worry. If you cheer for Papyrus, I won’t be mad.”

            Sans glared, his jaw clenched hard. “That’s really not the issue.”

            “It’s not like either of us are going to be trying to hurt each other,” Frisk shot back as they climbed to their feet. “Besides, just because I don’t like fighting doesn’t mean I don’t know how to. Don’t worry so much.”

            Unfortunately, Asriel looked just as nervous as he scuttled over to their side. “Maybe this _isn’t_ such a good idea.”

            “Et tu, Asriel?” They reached out and gave one of his long ears a playful tug. “Have a little faith, guys. I’m not so incompetent that I’m going to accidentally kill myself—or make Papyrus kill me, either.” With that, they shooed Asriel aside with a gesture as they dug out their phone. It’d taken Alphys awhile to try to unscramble their phone inventory from whatever happened to it when Frisk was—dragged here? Created?—but she had fixed it some. Some apps and items in their inventory were permanently gone, but Alphys had been able to save a few things.

            As Frisk and Papyrus walked back into the wide open space, they scrolled through their inventory. Their Undyne had taken Frisk’s lessons and training very seriously as they grew up, which meant Undyne trained them in as many weapons she was trained in, which was an impressively large amount. Unlike their trainer, however, Frisk hadn’t taken to every weapon equally. When it came down to it, their own bare hands were what they were best with—weapons like brass knuckles suited them, although Frisk shied away from the damage they could inflict. Knives had always felt unsettlingly comfortable in their hands, almost to the point of being uncanny, so they shied from those as well. There were other weapons—spears, of course, but staffs and swords, hammers, shields, and even maces and flails—but when it came down it, Frisk wasn’t fond of those either.

            Batons and clubs, however, struck a nice balance for them—when they’d first fallen into the Underground as a child, all they had was a useless stick. It wasn’t actually that easy to hurt someone with it, and batons and clubs reminded them of that. There was something comforting about them—something more like control with them. Yes, a baton could crack open a person’s skull, but you could also just wind them with a whack to the belly or hobble their hands temporarily by smacking the baton across their knuckles.

            Ignoring the bundle of nerves making their stomach queasy at the thought of using live weapons in a fight, Frisk summoned the batons out of their inventory and then pinned them in place by their side with their arm as they put their phone away. That done, they took the batons in their hands, adjusting their grips and taking a few test swings before settling their feet into position as well.

            Papyrus didn’t look terribly impressed with them. “If you’re ready.”

            Frisk grinned; they _had_ taken a while with their phone. Still, they nodded. “On your mark?”

            He nodded and fell into a battle ready position; Frisk did the same. “On my mark. One.” Magic suddenly charged the air as Papyrus’s magic reached out to them. “Two.” The magic took hold of their soul and drew it out of their body. “Mark!”

            The skeleton wasted no time; as he shouted his last word, he summoned a wave of bone bullets and sent them hurtling towards Frisk. They ignored the instinctual urge to dodge and run away and instead only ducked and wove around the bullets, heading straight towards Papyrus. They didn’t get far—Papyrus sent a dense wave of bullets at them and they had to scramble aside.

            Papyrus kept them on their toes for a bit, making them dash and evade, but Frisk could see his impatience grow. Rather than test his patience any longer, Frisk waited for an opportunity and then struck. One of the next waves didn’t fly through the air, but instead popped up from the ground to form a wall—well, perhaps more of a fence—before them. Instead of dodging, Frisk swung their left baton and smashed through the barrier. As the bullets shattered, they saw Papyrus twitch.

            Well, best not to waste an opportunity. Racing forward, they dodged the few bones he managed to muster and threw at them. As soon as they were close enough, they jumped up and took a swing—wide, purposefully sloppy; a warning—that he dodged, stepping backwards. With that tiny retreat, they started pressing forward.

            _Be relentless. Never let your opponent get their control back!_ Undyne’s old words rang in their memories. How often had she shouted that to them in a middle of spar?

            In a rare showing, Frisk pressed on and it was Papyrus who had to duck and weave around their blows. His magic was strong, but projectiles were always weak to physical attacks. For every bullet he tossed, they smashed the bullet apart and kept on coming. Even he looked surprised by their relentless charge.

            Finally, Frisk took one last lunge, swinging high as Papyrus half fell to a knee. Their baton whistled through the air but stopped short of his skull by several inches. Frisk paused for a moment and laughed. “Okay. You win.”

            After a breath, Papyrus banished the sharp ended bone spears that he had prickling their front, stopping them from moving forward. He’d sent a wall of bones shooting up from the ground, straight at their torso, keeping him safely out of reach. It’d been a good, clean victory for the skeleton, not that they had expected any different. Still, Papyrus climbed up to his feet, breathing a little sigh.

            “Oh, thank god,” they heard Asriel murmur as he ran over to them. Frisk just had time to open their arms for him before he clung onto their side.

            Frisk laughed, tucking their batons into their left armpit so that they could reach down and muss up his fur. “Aw, you didn’t enjoy the little show?”

            He grimaced up at them. “It was a lot more, um, _intense_ than I was expecting.”

            “Fair enough. And here I thought it was a bit of a pleasant surprise. I was way more limber than I was expecting for someone who hadn’t done any sort of training for two months.” Well, actually, they hadn’t sparred for many more months than that, but they didn’t feel like admitting that in front of Papyrus just then—he might make them train on sheer principle of trying to cure their laziness. They grinned up at Papyrus. “It wasn’t too bad, was it?”

            “It was… surprisingly passable,” Papyrus agreed, but he kept his eye sockets narrowed at them. “For always claiming to not be much of a fighter, you’re good at keeping your opponent off kilter.”

            They barked a laugh before shaking their head. “Well, it was only a spar. I was a great disappointment to my trainers when it came to live combat though, I’m sure.”

            Papyrus sighed. “You do lack fighting spirit to be a good warrior.” That sounded like something Undyne would say in an impassioned speech in the middle of battle, but Frisk decided to keep that one to themselves, even if it did make them want to giggle. “Still, you weren’t as a lethargic as I feared you would be. I suppose you had _that_ going for you.”

            “I thought it was cool,” Asriel said before adding, “but my insides were in knots the whole time.”

            “Ah, sweetheart,” they bent down and pressed a kiss to his brow. “Papyrus is way too amazing and precise to hurt me and I would have smacked myself in the face before I actually hurt him. We weren’t going to hurt each other.”

            “I _know_ that,” he muttered, leaning against their side. “It’s just _a lot._ ”

            “I’d be perfectly happy never seeing it again,” Sans commented; unlike Asriel, he was still back where he’d been before, but at some point he’d stood, almost at attention, with a sort of painful tension in his frame.

            Frisk frowned, but already Papyrus was walking away from them, back to the path that led out of the marshes. “Frisk could use some work. At least get out and exercise more.” He continued on, muttering loudly. “Maybe they could get Sans to train some as well.”

            Shaking their head, Frisk glanced back down at Asriel. “Everyone’s a critic around here. I’m happy with how I did though, so how about we get some ice cream to celebrate?”

            Asriel perked up. “I want something with mango. Chara wants chocolate.”

            “When _doesn’t_ Chara want chocolate?” Frisk turned back to see Sans still standing in place, but at least they could see that some of the tension had bled out of his body. “Sans? You coming?” Once they saw him shrug and start to walk forward, they tugged Asriel along so they could follow Papyrus as he led them home. Still, as they walked Frisk glanced down at their free arm and frowned.

            Papyrus had been right—they really were surprisingly spry for how little they’d been doing physically. Pushing papers and going to meetings weren’t exactly physically straining. At the very least, they should have been rustier on their feet. But they’d hardly noticed the strain of disused muscles at all.

            _Weird_ , they thought after a moment as they forcibly put the thought of their mind. So what, they were a little better off than they’d first thought? They had bigger things to worry about.

            It wasn’t like there could be anything wrong with it, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry I've been away so long. I was sick for quite awhile with seasonal illnesses--at one point, I got so hypersensitive to sound that just hearing to my family talking gave me headaches and my eyes watered looking at my computer--and it threw my off my writing that I had to take a break to rebuild by drive to write. That said, I have another chapter almost done--I was planning to post that one first, but then I hit some nasty writer's block, so I took a break and worked on this one instead.
> 
> While I was away, however, a lovely person on tumblr, Venelona, made some fanart that I really wanted to share with you guys! 
> 
> https://venelona.tumblr.com/post/172659383740/oh-well-i-tried-random-clothes-random  
> https://venelona.tumblr.com/post/173033958340/for-last-haven-the-world-upside-down-i
> 
> The first is a webcomic adapting the scene in chapter 18, after Frisk finds out they're married to Sans and complains about to Grillby. I thought it was a cute version and did a good job of streamlining the scene to make it funnier. I love how petty Frisk looks with their angry veins on their head. The second are title cards of sorts for The World, Upside Down. I love them too and am super happy.


	40. Our Father

            When Asriel and Chara died in one horrible day, Asgore tossed away many things. Ideas, concepts, morals; in the end, even his own marriage. He gave up the hope he had of his people one day standing in the sun, of looking at humans and seeing not only begrudging acceptance but maybe even respect or friendship. He tossed aside his old coddling ways of dealing with his people in hopes that maybe he could turn them into survivors, so humanity would never again claim one of their lives or their freedom.

            He even tossed away the hope that one day that he’d ever feel peaceful or at ease. After the death of his children, did he deserve a moment of respite?

            And yet, in the quiet twilight after the Barrier fell, that’s what he found. For the first time in a century, he sat in his greenhouse garden, closed his eyes, and was thankful. In the palace, Toriel and their children had come home, in an odd but very real way. He had walked out of the shadows of the mountain and stood in the light of day. The Edict discarded, the prisoners sent home. A council had already been formed and the heavy weight of decision making had been taken away from him—while he might have to agree to things, he wasn’t the one scrambling to come up with ideas. Actually, he could very well be entirely stripped of that job soon and he’d be happy for it. He’d gladly hand over the throne itself to ensure this miracle stayed put.

            He’d never thought he’d feel so free. Reborn. Frightened too, but it was a different kind of frightened than the one that tried to steal over him in the dark silences of his waking hours; it was the kind of fright that came with having so many new doors flying open, so many people—new and old—walking into his life. It was a kind of fright he was happy to have once again, to replace the crippling fear that whispered he was only dooming his people as well as his soul.

            Still, that uncertainty changed to wariness in a heartbeat when there was a knock at the door. He stood and paused for a moment, waiting. When there was nothing, he conjured his halberd—the Edict was gone, but he was no one’s favorite monster at the moment, let alone for the last century—and walked to the door. As he grew closer to the door, there was another, brief, knock. He drew his magic to him, let it crackle in the air around him, waiting for his will to shape them into fireballs.

            Taking a breath, he opened the door. Being as tall as he was, he naturally had to look down anyway, which was just as well, because he would have entirely missed Asriel standing there.

            His breath hitched in his chest. For a wild moment, his brain scrambled back to old habits and his first thought was that this was an imposter. It’d be a strange coincidence to try such a stunt right now when no one even knew Asriel was back just yet, but not out of the realm of possibility.

            What a horrible moment to realize the scope of how badly he changed the world—that now he couldn’t even trust if this was his own son or if this was an assassin.

            Then Asriel spoke and while it was Asriel’s voice, the words revealed the truth. “Father,” Chara began, still looking at him cautiously. “May I come in?”

            “Chara,” he breathed, his breath stuttering. Then he shook himself and took a step back. “Yes, come in.”

            His child hesitated for a moment, but then walked in with the same carefully affected air of purpose and confidence. If nothing, that proved that this was really Chara—there was no one left alive aside from Toriel who would know how Chara moved. He breathed a little easier, but only a little. After all, he’d barely had a chance to talk to his children.

            There was so much to say and so very little he actually deserved.

            “I could not sleep,” Chara began, startling him. Instead of looking up at him, Chara kept their gaze on the plants around them.

            “Oh,” he murmured. Should he step closer to them, or was it better to keep his distance? Asriel definitely didn’t want him near—then again, neither did Toriel. Did he even have the right to ask?

            “Bad dreams,” Chara went on.

            “Ah.” Well, that was something Asgore could definitely understand. “It’s been an… eventful day,” he tried for tact, but he grimaced at his own stumbling for words.

            Chara seemed to consider it as well. “It has been a long century.”

            Asgore glanced down at his child—one of his children, but speaking through the mouth of the other, life was truly bizarre—and didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. A century, gone. A century of not having his family for them all to return at once.

            Understatement didn’t begin to cover it in the slightest.

            “Did you,” he hesitated. “Did you want to talk about them?”

            Chara also fell silent for a long moment. “No. Bad dreams are only just that.” They crouched down and reached for one the closest golden blossoms at their feet. “I remembered coming out to your gardens. Back before. I always felt better when I did.”

            “You’re welcome to come here any time you want,” he blurted out. He smiled to hide his wince. “You’ve… always been welcomed here.”

            Chara’s smile was only partially about humoring him. “Thank you.”

            God, this wasn’t _fair_. A century apart from all of his family, and now they were back and he couldn’t touch any of them. He wanted nothing more than to scoop up his children, to cuddle them like they were babies, to kiss their cheeks, and breathe in their scents, to recapture the memories stolen from him by time. But then, whose fault was that?

            Chara startled him from his thoughts as they went on. “Besides. Not all the bad dreams were mine.”

            Asgore glanced down sharply, old instincts kicking in. “Asriel?”

            Chara nodded, running their fingers along the edges of the flower’s petals. “I suppose we all have memories to spare for bad dreams.”

            The old monster grimaced. Ah yes, plenty of bad memories—mostly caused from his decisions and the Edict. Damn him and damn his stupidity. He was a fool. What a goddamn fool. “I see.” He glanced back to his child and took a deep breath.

            He’d done so much damage; it was time to start trying to mend _some_ of it. “If you’d… ever want to talk about it, you could—I’d be willing to listen…”

            Chara surprised him by chuckling; they must have noticed his reaction as they smiled a little, not their polite, empty smile, but a real one. “We have no shortage of people willing to listen to us.”

            He blinked. “Oh?”

            They nodded, turning back to the plants. “Frisk, for one. They are easy to confide in.”

            Something hot and ugly rose in his chest, reaching to choke his throat, but he bit it back. After all, Frisk had extended an understanding hand to him as well, even when he was trying to murder them. That patient kindness, that knowing empathy—even he couldn’t help but be a little swayed by it. He’d just have to live with it. “They seem to be a compassionate person.”

            That seemed to be the end of the conversation; Chara didn’t look to be in any hurry to continue it, although Asgore would have given the crown from his head to hear just one more word.

            Unexpectedly, he got his wish.

            “Father?” Chara began, abandoning the flowers, but not looking up just yet.

            “Yes, Chara?”

            There was a pause as Chara shifted about, a heart achingly familiar sight. “I was hungry earlier. I ate the chocolate in your fridge.”

            Asgore stared for a moment; then failed to stop the snort that escaped him. When Chara looked at him, looking small, he tried to remember how to smile kindly once more. “That’s alright. It was always for you anyway.”

            Chara looked at him for a long moment, like there was something they wanted to say, but after a spell, they finally settled for smiling back. “Thank you.”

            Asgore nodded. In spite of his own longing, he realized that it was probably very late now. Reluctantly, he stood and gestured for Chara to do the same. “I would not recommend chocolate for a constant midnight snack though. Especially one when you’re trying to have good sleep.”

            “Chocolate always makes me happy,” they announced, but obeyed his nonverbal suggestion to stand as well. “My dreams can only be better for it.”

            He had to chuckle. “If you say so. But it’s best you get to bed now.” He turned towards the door. Without thinking, he reached out to gently shepherd them forward, as he would have years ago.

            Chara ducked his hand, darting to the side.

            The two paused, Asgore blinking down at them while he tried not to gasp at the pain in his chest, tightening his ribcage into a vice, crushing down on his heart and lungs. “Oh,” he murmured, less of a statement and more of air escaping his lungs.

            Chara looked up at him, eyes staring. At least they didn’t look damning or afraid, nor even cautious—and thank god for that, because that might have just dusted him then and there. Instead, they looked only patient, thoughtful. Delicately, they cleared their throat. “Asriel would appreciate it if you refrained from touching us. _Either_ of us.”

            “…ah,” he managed, lacking something better to say. Because what could he ever say to that? That he deserved it? Obviously. “I… see.” Somehow, he managed to find the strength to turn and walk away as if his heart wasn’t bleeding out in his chest. “Still, it’s time to sleep.”

            After a small pause, Chara followed him out. “Yes, father.”

 

 

 

 

            For all their surprising good points, sometimes Asgore couldn’t help but hate Frisk. Sure, the new ambassador worked doggedly to help his people however they could. They helped organized the reconnection to the human world outside the mountain, they helped suggest ideas to help monsters get ready to meet that world. They never quarreled with the council during meetings, even when some of the other council members looked like they were itching to start something. They met every challenge with an expression of good humor and patience.

            But they were also the person who was raising his children now. They were the one Asriel and Chara turned to, the person they went home with every night. There were others around them, protecting his children, but his children circled Frisk like moons orbiting a planet. When Asriel smiled, it was most often aimed at Frisk; when Chara had a question, they often turned to Frisk first. And that was fair—Frisk had saved them all, but more specifically became the vehicle for both of his children’s return. Frisk restored their hopes and faith, given Chara some literal Determination to help anchor them in life.

            But sometimes there was nothing Asgore wanted to do more than grab their head between his hands and squeeze until there was nothing but pulp between his fingers.

            He tried not to focus on those thought too much. After all, he owed so much to them. Some days were easier than others, some harder.

            And then there was days like today.

            Asgore had never much cared for paperwork; at least Frisk agreed with him on that. Asgore had a bad habit of setting papers down wherever he could and then forgetting about them, which meant he had stacks of papers in multiple rooms, and that needed to be gone through. Over the past few months, he and the others—well, to be honest, it was mostly Toriel—had cleared and sorted most of the papers out. Today, they’d been working on sorting out one of the last rooms. Or rather, he’d been banished by Toriel to go “clean up” some of his own mess. Frisk had volunteered to help him because a meeting had fallen through.

            Today had been a good day; he’d hardly felt any stirrings of resentment for them today. Conversation had been at a minimum, but when they had talked, it’d been on lighter, easy topics. The day was warm. Their bodyguard skeleton may or may not have been feigning sleep in the corner to get out of helping them sort, but even he’d been politely unobtrusive.

            They’d stopped talking sometime around noon, both busy with their own sorting and reading. It was dull, uninteresting work. Perhaps that was why Frisk fell asleep.

            He hadn’t realized it at first. They’d both been quiet for so long, it wasn’t like he’d noticed them falling silent. It was only when he felt a weight slump against his leg that he’d realized something was off about them. They’d slumped over in the spot they’d been sitting, on the floor, next to his chair besides some of the taller stacks of papers. For a moment after he felt the weight hit his leg, he’d thought of his children—Asriel in particular liked to take an abrupt nap after playing a lot during the day. Chara less so, but even they’d fallen asleep against his side.

            But that hadn’t happen in one hundred years. In fact, no one had had the audacity to try to sleep in his presence in decades. And yet, there they were, face slack, breathing slow and steady. ~~~~

Funny that it would this human that was the first to make themselves so vulnerable. Looking at them, he could easily see that they really were just past childhood themselves, even by human standards. Young and just as fragile, despite what their confidence tried to put across.

            He remembered something they said shortly after the Barrier came down. That they were not going to be going home—that they would be staying indefinitely. It’d seemed like such a stroke of luck back then. But now he had to wonder.

            Was there anyone waiting for them back home? Did they have a father who waited for them to return?

            Asgore stared down at them for a moment before he returned to his papers. “I think,” he began, carefully setting one paper down into a stack, “that you should take the ambassador home and let them get some proper rest.”

            Blue light surrounded Frisk’s form as magic lifted them up; they rose up, limp and cradled as if by invisible hands. Their form drifted away, towards Sans, and then there was the sound of displaced air as they somehow vanished from sight.

            Asgore sorted another page, blindly, before turning to look over his shoulder at the empty room behind him.

            After a moment, he closed his eyes, sighed, and returned to sorting. As he worked, he felt a stirring of pity—if there really was someone out there waiting for Frisk, he doubted they would reunite any time soon.

            If there was one thing he knew, waiting for a lost child to reunite with was a special kind of hell.

            It really was funny though—after that day, for reasons he could never quite place, Frisk seemed oddly harder to hate. Maybe it was the fact that they were willing to be vulnerable enough to fall asleep in his presence, despite the fact that he’d once murdered them where they stood. Maybe it was the fact that he remembered that they were someone’s child, a child who’d never reunite with their own family.

            Or maybe it was just that, for a moment, it was almost like he was a real father once more.

 

 

 

 

            _“Hello, your majesty. I’m sorry, but do you have a moment?”_

            The king—in little more than name, which was honestly how Asgore preferred it—fumbled with his too small phone as he set aside his gardening gloves and grimaced. He’d almost missed catching the call as he hurried in out of the unseasonably warm autumn heat, so he hadn’t checked the name on the caller id as he picked it up. “Ambassador,” he grumbled, still trying to get a better grip on the phone. “Please drop the formalities.”

            Frisk’s chuckle on the other end of the line was warm; he was certain they always greeted him formally just to needle him. Still, he’d take their gentle teasing over the cold shoulders and wary self-consciousnesses of most people. _“If you’d like. But, still, I have a question for you.”_

“Ask it already.” Stepping further into his kitchen, he snagged his teakettle and carried it over to the sink to fill it up.

_“It’s about Asriel-”_

            He nearly dropped his teakettle. “Is he okay? Are he and Chara alright?”

            To their credit, Frisk didn’t mock or tease him about panicking. _“No, no, they’re both safe, trust me. I can see him in the living room from here.”_

            Asgore closed his eyes, picked up the kettle from where he’d dropped it in the sink, and began to fill it again. “Then what exactly is the problem?” he grumbled, trying to calm his racing heart.

            _“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to frighten you. But there is a problem. Asriel came to me about a… delicate issue. I thought it would be best if he talked with you about it.”_

            “Oh,” he murmured, eyes wide as he sat the full kettle down in the sink. “Well,” he tried again. His heart was hammering in his chest for a new reason. “Is he—does he _want_ to talk to me?” He winced as he said ‘want’, but he had to know—he had to be _sure_.

            God, he wasn’t sure his heart could take the disappointment if they said no.

_“Yes. I am one hundred percent sure. He wanted to know if he could come out there tonight and talk for a bit. Do you have some time?”_

            _Please_ , he wanted to say, _as if I wouldn’t have cleared my entire calendar for a year just for this kind of opportunity._ “Yes, yes, that’s fine! Bring him over,” he paused before adding, “uh, bring him over whenever he wants.”

_“Would twenty minutes be okay?”_

            “Perfect, yes,” he glanced down at his teakettle and brightened. “I’ll have tea ready for him!” He froze; Asriel didn’t like tea. He _knew_ that—Asriel liked sweet stuff like soda or juice. Why did he have to go and say such a stupid thing? God, what was he thinking—what if Asriel changed his mind, not wanting to deal with such an idiot for a father? What if-

            _“Oh. Um. Actually, he’s been really into warm milk with honey if you can swing that.”_

            Well. Actually, he did have both those things. Maybe this meant he wasn’t _completely_ hopeless. “Got it. I’ll be waiting here.”

            _“Okay. Thanks for everything, Asgore. See you soon.”_

            “Goodbye.” He hung up and then stood there at his sink in silence.

            His son _wanted_ to talk to him. His children were coming to see him, and very soon at that. At the thought, he had to grip the edge of the sink and take several deep breaths. After settling himself down, he began to scramble around his kitchen. Where had he put the pack of ginger cookies he’d bought on a whim during his last grocery shopping trip? Where was that blasted jar of honey? Should he grab Asriel’s favorite cup from where he kept it, wrapped up safely in a wooden box, or would Asriel only find it weird that he still had it?

            He wasted so much time scrambling around that he nearly forgot to heat up the water. Quickly, he got it boiling using his own magic and then poured himself a cup before setting the kettle aside to get heating up the milk. He only just got it warm when he finally heard a knock at the front door. He jerked his hand, splashing hot milk onto his fingers, but his fur kept the worst of the sting off. Hissing and biting back pain, he set the cup down, and grabbed a dishrag to clean his hands off as he walked to the front door. Absently, he tossed the rag aside and opened the door.

            Just as they said they would be, Frisk stood on his porch, one arm around Asriel’s shoulders. “Good afternoon, Asgore,” Frisk greeted him.

            Asriel murmured his own soft hello.

            The quiet reluctance dampened Asgore’s hopes, but he made sure his face was polite as he spoke. “Good afternoon. Please, come in.”

            “Actually, if it’s alright with you, I was hoping to go take a look at your garden while you talk,” Frisk said, stunning Asgore. Not only was Asriel coming to talk to him, but Asriel wanted to do it alone? Frisk wouldn’t have forced Asriel to talk to Asgore all alone, so this had to be a decision Asriel had made ahead of time.

            Whatever Asriel wanted to talk about, it had to be big. Asgore forced himself to nod. “Go ahead. But make sure not to bother the apiaries. I had to move a few queens into their new hives after they started swarming. Now that they’ve settled in, they’re territorial at the moment.”

            “Thanks for the warning.” Frisk gave Asriel’s shoulder a squeeze and told him to call them whenever he was ready.

            Once the ambassador was gone and it was just the two of them, Asgore was at a loss for what to say. After a moment of fumbling, he finally managed a strained “tea?” After a moment, he nearly kicked himself. “I warmed up some milk as well.”

            Asriel nodded. “That’d be nice.”

            He waited for his son to head towards the kitchen before he realized Asriel was waiting for him. Did his son honestly think he would still attack him, that he would be so horrible to wait until his back was turned to strike? Or was it just nerves? Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to forget it and marched himself towards the kitchen, Asriel trailing quietly behind after shutting the front door.

            Once they were in the kitchen, he let his son settle in a seat before he brought him the now safely warm cup of milk and then fetched him the jar of honey and a spoon. “Would you like some ginger cookies?”

            Asriel paused as he dug out a second large spoonful of honey. “Did you make them yourself?”

            If the mood wasn’t so awkward, Asgore might have laughed. He never had been much of a baker. “Ah, no. I got them from the store.”

            “Alright then.”

            After setting the cookies out on the table, Asgore took his seat and the two sat in silence, Asriel still stirring the honey into the milk. To stall, Asgore took a sip of his own tea, trying to savor the flavor only to realize he’d gotten the water too hot and now the drink was bitter. Rather than confess it, he forced himself to take another sip.

            The silence dragged on for another long moment before Asgore admitted to himself that he was going to have to get the ball rolling or they would sit there in awkward silence all day. “Frisk said you had something you would like to talk about with me?”

            Asriel grimaced, but did nod as he finally took a sip of his drink. He took his time with his drink before he set the cup down. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then paused. Finally, his shoulders slumped. “Um. I had a question that I, um.” He froze for a moment and sighed. “I don’t know how to ask about this.”

            Asgore sat for a long, painful moment before he finally forced his mouth open. “This wouldn’t, ah… you wouldn’t need to have… _the talk_ , would you?”

            Asriel looked at him in confusion before mortification swept over his face. “What? No! No, not at all!”

            “Oh, thank goodness,” Asgore mumbled a bit too loud. He’d never had a chance to really plan that talk in the first place; once upon a time after Asriel’s death, he’d been devastated about everything, even the idea of missing awkward but important conversations like that. Sure, he now had that chance again, but it was still going to be _very_ awkward. It was best to leave that up to the whims of the future for now. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Well, what did you want to talk about then?”

            The flustered look left his son’s face and he looked timid again as he glanced down at his drink. Finally, he took a breath and looked up. “After me and Chara died, did you ever adopt other children?”

            Asgore gawked at his child. He nearly had to pry his tongue from the roof of his mouth, where it was stuck fast, like a fly on sticky paper. “No, never.”

            Asriel paused, eyes suddenly and pointedly fixed on his father. “Never?”

            Slowly, he shook his head. How could he ever explain the depth of the torment he felt after his children died and his wife vanished? After condemning his people to bloodshed and death? What could he do to ever earn the right to raise another child? How could he bear to outlive another child if he had? Training Undyne was hard enough, and he hadn’t even thought of taking her in; watching her struggle and suffer, having to keep his mouth shut about his worries because he was the reason she suffered in the first place.

            God, perhaps it was best that Frisk took Asriel and Chara in after they returned.

            “Never,” he repeated, firmly.

            After a moment of consideration, Asriel looked down at the table. “Did you know that m—that Toriel had adopted children while she was in the Ruins? That she raised some of the humans.”

            Asgore flinched.

            After Toriel had vanished, he had hoped she’d just found some hidden part of the Underground to stay. And then the first human fell; there’d been a few deaths before the Enforcers found and struck him down. The thought that the child had perhaps found and murdered her had haunted his thoughts—it made it easier to harvest the soul. It wasn’t until the last soul that he had thought otherwise.

            The pale blue soul had been a tiny child, surprisingly young. He could still picture Undyne walking into the throne room, her arms full of the sobbing child; the child had cozied up as much as she could into Undyne’s armor, but her face was pure misery. And for a moment, so was Undyne’s; he wondered if perhaps Undyne would refuse to hand over the child. Even a fierce warrior like Undyne was still a monster at heart and to harm a child was unthinkable. He thought, for a moment, that maybe she would attack him or flee into the dark shadows of the Underground, to hide the child. But then she handed the child over and left.

            Even he pitied the child as she wept. When Undyne handed her over and abruptly left, a part of him had wanted to undo the child’s restraints, to pet her head, and comfort her. She’d been so small—so helpless. Duty forced him to carry her to the Barrier, to summon his halberd. But before he did summon his weapon, he paused for a moment and frowned as she cried for her mother.

            There’d been something familiar about the child—under all that fear and dirt, there’d be a faint scent that came home into his DNA. He _knew_ that scent, but he refused to think about it. Because if he had, then perhaps it would mean Toriel was alive. That she was still trying to save human children.

            That she was still a mother. And that he was murdering her children.

            After everything, she told him as much. The shame had nearly killed him.

            “Yes,” he said. “I did hear.”

            Asriel nodded, never noticing the shadow that passed over his father’s face. “I saw inside the house in the Ruins. When she wasn’t around, I mean.” He glared at his cup of milk. “Did you know that there were no pictures of us in it?”

            He said nothing.

            “None of our old clothes or books or tools. All of the knick knacks, all of the stuff Chara and I made when we played in the Ruins, it was all gone.” The cup in his hand made a faint noise of distress. He sat it down. “Instead, there was all this other stuff—stuff she’d gotten for those humans, or that they had made for her. It was all _them_ and none of _us._ Like she shoved everything into a box, put it away, and then _replaced_ us.”

            Something crept up his spine—maybe it was panic, maybe it was despair. It crawled up his throat and stung at his eyes, even as he opened his mouth. “Asriel…”

            “And you know what? Frisk took me over to her new home, after she moved out of the mountain. They had to drop off a folder. I went inside, and the whole house was still stuff that she got from those kids, or from her students.”

            He flinched. “Asriel.”

            “There still wasn’t any pictures of us or anything of the stuff we made her! It’s like we’re _still_ dead.”

            He _had_ to stop this. “Asriel!”

            Finally, his son looked up, his eyes wounded and wet with tears. “Even _you_ still have stuff from us up here!”

            In the long pause after that outburst, the silence was only broken by both of their uneven breathing. Taking a deep breath, Asgore fought back the urge to reach out and sweep his son up into his arms, as he would have when Asriel was tiny, when he would run in with hands bloodied by the thorns of his roses. Instead, he focused on his breathing until he found his voice again.

            “Your mother,” he began, freezing for a second, before collecting himself. “Is a woman with a lot of… love and compassion to offer to others. When we lost both of you and when I… created the Edict, she, she had no one to give that love to anymore. When what happened happened, I can’t begin to describe to you how painful it was to me, let alone to her. That kind of pain, for me, I let it consume me for a long time. For your mother, it haunted her too, but instead of wallowing in it, she tried to put that pain away, because she thought it would help others.

            “It seems cruel to you, but for your mother, the way to be strong was to help others. She couldn’t do that with constant reminders around her, hurting her.” He didn’t tell his son that this was all mostly his own theory of how his ex wife dealt with grief, but it was one he felt was pretty likely. After the War, after being sealed Underground, he noticed much of the same behavior back then—she hadn’t lamented their fate for long, instead rolling up her sleeves and getting to work. She’d been annoyed briefly with his determination to try and get a garden going, but she realized that something as frivolous as a flower garden was helpful in those times. On her own, though, she probably had used that need to help others drown out her grief.

            “As for why she still hasn’t put up any of your old pictures or crafts, I would think it’s for those same reasons. All those things, all of those memories, there all,” he caught himself before he said the word ‘tainted’. He did not need to put the idea that Asriel or Chara had tainted Toriel’s memories in either of their heads. “Painful. And your mother does not keep painful things near her.”

            The words felt like he’d swallowed a dagger with each one, but when he finished, he felt like he could breathe better now. It was an odd feeling, but far more relieving was the fact that the betrayal and fear had fallen from Asriel’s face. His son gazed up at him with something that looked desperately like hope. “You don’t think she’s trying to forget us?”

            His eyes were stinging like there were shards of glass, but he managed to find a smile. “Asriel, you and Chara are simply impossible to forget.”

            At last, Asriel picked his cup back up and nodded before taking a sip of his milk. He paused and frowned.

            Swallowing as quietly as he could, Asgore managed to speak. “Something wrong?”

            Asriel looked a little embarrassed as he looked back up. “It got cold.”

            He froze, but before he could stop himself, he chuckled. “Ah. Would you like me to warm it up again?”

            With a small nod, he slid the cup over to his father. As Asgore warmed the milk up with his magic, he fidgeted a little in his chair before speaking. “Can I have a cookie?”

            “Yes, of course.” He put the cup down and gently slid it over as Asriel got out a cookie and nibbled on it. He waited for a moment, watching with a fond smile as his son drank his milk and ate the cookie. “How does it taste?”

            “It’s good,” he answered, but his voice sounded thick. In the next moment, he sniffled and his eyes began to tear up. “It’s really good.”

            Ignoring the stabbing pain in his heart, Asgore tried not to frown. “Would you like me to go get Frisk now?” he offered, trying to think of something comforting.

            His son nodded, biting back a whimper.

            Leaving his son for a moment, Asgore stood with a heavy heart and walked to the back door. Luckily, as soon as he stepped out onto the back porch, he saw Frisk look up from where they stood, admiring his garden. They waved to him and he waved back before gesturing for them to come to him. They obeyed without a fuss, jogging over to the back porch.

            “Hey,” they said, as they stopped at the bottom step of the porch. “How’s it going in there?”

            He wasn’t sure ‘good’ was the right word for the heavy conversation. He settled for “we talked. Asriel would like you to join us now.”

            They climbed the stairs quickly and then hurried in as he took a step back to let them pass. “Hey, buddy,” they greeted Asriel, walking over to crouch next to his chair. “Good talk?”

            He nodded, and Asgore breathed a sigh of relief. “Uh huh.”

            Frisk smiled. “That’s good,” they murmured rubbing his back before he leaned in for a hug.

            To hide his face, Asgore turned to the stove. He ducked his head to hide the fact he had to scrub at his face with his hands, he cleared his throat without turning around. “Ambassador, would you like a cup of tea?”

            “If that’s alright with you guys,” Frisk’s voice rose, helping to push out the unsettled atmosphere.

            “I’m okay with it,” Asriel said.

            “Alright then. Golden flower tea, if you have it, please.”

            He nodded and busied himself with making up a cup. But the time he’d turned around, he had himself mostly presentable and Frisk had got Asriel calm and smiling again. He paused, staring at the two; Frisk was ruffling the fur on top of Asriel’s head. His son ducked under their hand and huffed at them, which made them laugh.

            It was funny. In the beginning, looking at Frisk interacting with either of his children felt like someone stabbing him in the heart. And yet, just now, he thought that for a moment, they looked like a pair of siblings, the elder teasing the younger and the younger gamely enduring it with a smile.

            Funny. He certainly didn’t remember thinking of Frisk like one of his own. When had that happened?

            He was shaken from his thoughts when Frisk looked up at him. Quickly, he walked over and handed the tea to them before sitting down.

            As Frisk took the cup, they cleared their throat. “The kids and I have been talking, and I wanted to ask you and Toriel about a… proposition of sorts.”

            That should have sent a shiver of fear down his back; instead, he found himself interested as he took his own cup back up. “Yes?”

            “Would you and Toriel consider joining Asriel and Chara in going to see a family therapist for counseling?”

            Asgore blinked. “Counseling?”

            Frisk nodded, reaching out and rubbing Asriel’s shoulders as they spoke. “I think—and the kids agree—that maybe having someone neutral to talk to would help you guys… clear the air. Start healing,” they added. “Just to help get the conversation going maybe.”

            Perhaps on principle, he should have been offended. After all, he and Asriel just had a fairly productive conversation just a few minutes before. And yet, the idea that maybe they could talk more, like a family, that they could maybe reclaim some of that lost closeness, it felt like something he would have gone to war for if necessary.

            “When would we begin?” he asked, almost blurting the words out.

            From over on the other side of the table, Asriel smiled, a smile that hadn’t been pointed in his direction in a very, very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages and ages ago, Brainless Genius requested that I do something with Asgore (and Toriel, but I've since done some stuff with her). I meant to get around to it, but massive writer's block stopped me. In the end, I had to rewrite the beginning of this, but I finally finished it. It's about time I showed Asriel and Chara interacting one-on-one with one of their parents.


	41. Touch and Go

            “Would you believe that when was eleven I was dead certain I’d never have sex with anyone?”

            Sans laughed before he could catch himself, looking for a moment almost startled by the force of his mirth. His amusement made his fingers stutter over the knobs of their spine, his fingers splaying wide for a moment into the small of their back. “You’re fucking with me.”

            “I’m seriously not,” they murmured, smiling to themselves as they mused over the fact that they were both failing spectacularly at taking a nap they’d both agreed sounded like a great idea just two minutes before now. Maybe taking a nap at noon on their day off _was_ a little early.

            His digits went back to tracing the bumps and valleys of their spine, his hand drifting upward, forcing their shirt to ride up. He still looked amused. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve never claimed to see the future.”

            “That one would have really ruined my record,” they agreed. They hummed a little sound of appreciation as he undid the clasp of their bra for them—why had they bothered to put one on that morning was beyond them. They must have been feeling ambitious—or they’d just being mindlessly following a daily schedule they’d fallen into unconsciously. Unimportant either way, though. They wriggled and tugged until they pulled their bra out one of their sleeves and then tossed it backwards blindly so it landed somewhere on the floor.

            “Okay,” he said as his fingers went back to following the dips of their spine, “why did you think you weren’t going to have sex?”

            They nearly rolled their eyes. “Puberty was not kind to either my complexion or my body image. The idea of someone touching me made my skin crawl.”

            “Mm, can’t say I know what that’d feel like.”

            They sighed pointedly, but couldn’t resist how their mouth twitched up. “Guess then. You’re a smart boy, aren’t you?”

            He snickered. “I’ve been told that once or twice. But not often.” When they huffed, he laughed and let one hand follow the curve of their side, tracing the turn of their ribs through the flesh, dipping into the dimple of their badly healed rib. “So, what changed your mind about sex?”

            “Hormones, mostly,” they answered bluntly; they grinned when Sans barked a laugh at them. “But eventually, I realized that my own terrible self esteem was stopping me from doing my job because I was getting timid and embarrassed. I was letting good stuff pass me by that could help monsters. So I said ‘fuck it’ and decided to fake it ‘til I made it. After a year or two of not treating myself like shit over my looks, I realized I wasn’t as hideous from there. Then I started dating and I got too curious to ignore it anymore.”

            “Sounds about right,” he murmured, his hand gliding down the curves of their stomach. He tapped one fingertip into the dip of their belly button.

            In return, they tapped a quick tattoo against his left cheekbone, making him glance up at their face. “I think I should get to ask you a question now.”

            He jokingly grimaced at them. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

            “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but don’t think I’m going to keep letting you play with my belly fat if you don’t.”

            He snorted and purposefully prodded their stomach. “You’re not fat.”

            They sighed. “No, but I’m not as lean as I could be. Question time.”

            Shaking his head, he laid his hand against their stomach. “Fuck it, why not? Hit me.”

            They considered him a moment before leaning forward and dragged their tongue in an arc across his cheekbone, making him shiver. “Who was the person you first fucked?”

            “Well, that’s blunt.”

            “Do you want me to be flowery about it? I can if you want. O, darling dearest, who so ever did you first take to bed-?”

            “You _stop_ that,” he ordered, ignoring their mirth as he tried hide his own laughter. He was distracted when they pressed kiss after kiss to his mouth and teeth, until they finally pulled back and he sighed. After a moment, he made a noise like he was clearing his throat. “What was the question again?”

            They laughed at him. “Who’d you ‘take to bed’ first, I think.”

            Rolling his eyes, he hummed distractedly as they nuzzled their head against his jaw. “Uh, well, that kinda depends on what you consider ‘taking to bed’. Me and Pap were essentially homeschooled, so I didn’t really get much of a chance to do _anything_ until I was damn near twenty.”

            “Poor thing.”

            “Yeah, so you can take your ‘hormones’ shit and shove it.” Shifting his hand back to their side, he tickled the skin above their hip.

            They gasped and squirmed. “Hey—no—that’s not fair! I can’t tickle you back.”

            “Life sucks all around, huh, babe?” he teased, still making them squirm.

            They narrowed their eyes, the only warning he got before they ducked forward, running their tongue across his left clavicle and made him gasp. “Ha,” they retorted as he shuddered at their touch. They ignored how his pleading groan as they started to pull back.

            “Now, _that_ ,” he grunted, grabbing their arms, “is fucking unfair.”

            “Mm, I’ve been told that life sucks all around,” they shot back, letting him pull them back to him. “You’re avoiding my question.”

            “I’m not really,” he huffed back, “in the _mood_ for twenty questions.”

            “If you play nice, _I’ll_ play nice.”

            “Fucking—fine, you wanted to know who I, what, fooled around with first? When I was fifteen, the old man took me on as an intern, so I joined the other scientists in the Lab. There was another intern there, a couple years older than me. We got along well enough and started getting handsy after awhile.”

            Frisk paused, thought it over, before finally speaking. “Huh. As much as that makes sense, for some reason that’s still a surprise.”

            “Why, because of my age? Don’t tell me you weren’t trying to screw around by fifteen, because I’m going to have to call bullshit.”

            “What? No,” they paused and laughed. “Honestly, I was just surprised because I’m pretty sure that’s a child labor law violation.”

            Even he looked taken aback before he cracked up. He tried to calm himself, but snorts and giggles kept escaping his mouth every chance they got. “Uh—heh—well, kinda? I wasn’t actually paid, so maybe it doesn’t count.”

            “So what happened in the end with the person you were ‘getting handsy’ with?”

            “Um. Honestly, we got caught one day.”

            “Nice. So, what, you got reported and were told to knock it off?”

            “Oh, no, we weren’t reported,” he answered as he slipped his hands back up to the swells of their chest. “Nah, the old man himself found us.”

            “Oh shit,” they muttered, their eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his fingertips danced over the pebbly flesh of their areola.

            “Yeah, pretty much. We both got reamed out.  I got it first because the old man was seriously not amused by shitting where you eat.” Frisk snorted at that. “And then my little friends-with-benefits caught hell for it. Then she got fired. Not really fair in hindsight really, but I _was_ related to the boss.”

            “I’ll say. But you know, it’s kinda funny.”

            “What are you talking? It’s hilarious.” He let them have a moment to chuckle as his hand dipped into the valley of their chest, pressing his fingers against their sternum.

            “No, I mean, it’s pretty funny how you _still_ haven’t learned to stop mixing business with pleasure.”

            He laughed. “I haven’t heard you complaining.”

            “Oh, why would I ever?” they teased. “Okay. Your turn again.”

            He groaned, but didn’t argue. “Alright, if that’s how you want to be. What’s the weirdest thing you got asked to do with a person you’ve slept with?”

            They paused. “The weirdest?”

            “Yeah, weird kinky shit.”

            “Um,” they mumbled as they thought it over. “Jeez, the weirdest? Okay, wait—no. I know what it was. To be fair, roleplay isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve been asked, but there was this one guy who wanted to do… this very specific scenario with me.”

            Sans pulled back a little to get a better look at their face. “This is going to be hilarious, isn’t it?”

            They grinned back at him. “Wait for it. So I met this guy. We’re having some drinks, shooting the breeze, and then we get to flirting. I thought he was decent enough, so we decide to go have some fun. But then he asks if I want to roleplay…” they grimaced at their memory, even as they tried not to laugh, “as my _mother.”_

            Sans’s jaw fell slightly open as he stared at them. “Oh my fuck.”

            “Turns out he had a gigantic fucking crush on her and he thought I, being her child, could probably pull off the ‘role’ really well.”

            “Holy shit.”

            “Also, he wanted to roleplay as my _father_ ,” they added. “Needless to say, we did not have sex.”

            After he was finally finished laughing, he tried to catch his breath. “Ah, fucking hell—okay, that’s kind of hard to top, but I might be able to do you one better.”

            “Oh, well, _now_ you have my attention, sir. Proceed.”

            He snorted, glancing away in thought as his hands returned to their exploration of Frisk’s flesh. “This was, what, a couple months before you came here? Anyways, remember Dizzy?”

            Frisk frowned. “It’s kind of hard to _forget_ Dizzy.” Dizzy was a nickname for the constantly drunk rabbit that tended to haunt Grillby’s bar—actually, no one was really sure if Dizzy had a job, as she was constantly at Grillby’s, but she never seemed short on money either. She was fun loving lush and had a libido that could put actual rabbits to shame; she hit on anyone and everyone in sight. She was, amusingly, pretty similar to the Dizzy Frisk had known from their childhood, mostly because despite being a world of ‘kill or be killed’, Dizzy wouldn’t hurt a fly. Perhaps that was one the reasons why she stuck close to Grillby’s bar—he didn’t allow fighting in his bar, so she’d been safer there than most other places. “Is it really fair to out her? It’s not like we’ve been using specific names before this.”

            “It’s Diz. She’s not going to care.” He paused to shake his head. “She’d still probably laugh at this. Anyway, I had a normal shitty day, so I went to Grillby’s. Dizzy was already there and up to her normal shtick of trying to bang everything in sight, and when she spotted me, she was all over me.”

            Frisk raised their eyebrows, humming a little as Sans’s hand started traveling down their stomach again. “You couldn’t have been in _too_ bad a mood then.”

            “Eh. Bad’s relative,” he retorted, sliding his fingers over the head of the trail of pubic hair that lead beneath their boxers. “Bad enough that I said to hell with it and let her try and entertain me.”

            “As you do.”

            “Something like that. So, we’re both deep into our cups and I’m listening to her try and sell me on this fantasy she wants to play out with me. It’s mostly pretty normal, but I have to remind her that skeleton biology—it doesn’t-”

            “Probably isn’t going to work the way she thinks it does?” Frisk tried, smirking.

            “Yeah. So, I’m trying to explain this and—it’s not discouraging her _at all._ All it’s done is apparently given her this new ‘twist’. So, instead of fucking her with some organ I don’t even have, she decides that she wants me to fuck her using one of my bones.”

            “Well,” Frisk began, shrugging. “It’s not like it can’t work.”

            Sans stopped to pull his hand free of their shirt just to hold it up to them, asking for a pause. “The problem was that the bone—bones—she wanted to use was _my goddamn spine.”_

            Frisk froze, mouth falling open. “I—what?”

            “Oh, she was _real_ into the idea of my using my vertebra to get off. Like, she got real specific when talking about the processes and shit.”

            Frisk tried not to laugh as they mentally flailed about. “But that’s—kind of attached?”

            “That’s what I said—but she didn’t _get_ it.” He had to pause as Frisk gave into their laughter, but he couldn’t leave the story there and went on, having to raise his voice over their laughter. “I sat there five whole goddamn minutes, trying to explain that I _kind of need that_ and I’m getting nothing back. It’s like talking to a damn wall. Finally, she seems to pick up on the fact that that’s just not happening. So she has the fucking audacity to go _‘well, how about your femur instead?’”_

            Frisk’s sides were starting to hurt from laughing when they felt his hands trailing down their stomach again. It wasn’t until his phalanges slipped under the elastic band of their boxers that their stomach suddenly lurched. A deep and sudden revulsion boiled in their stomach at the idea of hands—any hands, hell, even their own hands—touching them any further south. In a snap, their hand reached out and grabbed his wrist.

            There was a slight pause. “Not today?” he asked, tone as close to gentle as he could manage.

            They sighed, relieved not to hear condescension in his voice—more than one of their old lovers had been miffed when they flinched from their touches. “Not right now,” they amended, leaning in to press their forehead to his.

            “Alright,” he answered and his hand slid back up and around their back to press against the knobs of their spine. “Not like we have anything better to do today.”

            Frisk chuckled before lapping at his teeth. “Nothing beats a vacation day.”

            “A-fucking-men.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I almost forgot to post this chapter. This was a request from kawaiiloverq who wanted to see "a physical moment between Sans and Frisk" that also explores more of their nonbinary nature. This was a tough request because as someone who's cis, it's not a perspective I instantly understand with perfect clarity--in the end, I tried to do what I could. If you feel that I failed, please tell me so in the comments so I can try to do better in the future. Also, this chapter was hard because it *constantly* wanted to turn into smut and I didn't really want to only be able to post this in A Kinder World, After Dark story. Ah well, I had fun in the end.


	42. The Hardest Choices

            Alphys liked plans. Liked blue prints, schedules, and carefully thought out agendas. She liked keeping her calendar precise, even if her desk was a pigsty. Her anxiety was easier to manage if she knew exactly what was coming and when.

            When Undyne told her that she wanted to have a baby, it upset Alphys’s careful planning, but it wasn’t the worst news she’d gotten. After all, it wasn’t like Undyne was announcing she _was_ pregnant, just that she’d like to be some time soon. There were some alarming worries when it came to Undyne’s health, but the idea wasn’t insane or anything. Even when Undyne insisted she wanted to be the one carrying the baby, that wasn’t the end of the world. Alphys could still make plans for this. So, she sat down and carefully adjusted plans, ran tests, and gathered data. Undyne could, in theory, safely conceive and carry a child, she found. They just had to be careful. With that in mind, they agreed that they could start getting ready to have a child in a year.

            And then, in the sticky July heat, Alphys really looked at Undyne’s stomach one day and noticed that her wife’s abs weren’t _quite_ as flat as they normally would be. She mainly noticed because Undyne wouldn’t stop complaining about it, but today she finally did see the bit of pudge Undyne was ranting about. She didn’t think much of it after Undyne swore up and down that she would just double down on her training regimen. But one week later Undyne went to the store abruptly one night—Alphys didn’t even bother to ask why, just asked if she would pick up another tube of toothpaste.

            Undyne came back shortly and then headed into the bathroom. Alphys vaguely noted she seemed to be spending a long time in there to drop off the toothpaste into the medicine cabinet, but remained focused on the paper she was writing for the conference she’d been invited to attend. She was halfway ready to just beat herself over the head with her keyboard, cursing as she tried to find what she did with a paper she was using as a source when Undyne walked over and dropped something onto the desk. Blinking, she looked and then froze before turning to look up at Undyne.

            “Hey, remember when we talked about having kids?” she began before bluntly nodding to the object.

            Feeling like she was watching her body from across the room, Alphys leaned over and read the tiny readout on the object—a long, thin device that she’d seen enough times on human television to recognize on sight, although it was slightly different, being made for monsters _. ‘Yes!’_ it read in vivid blue letters, reminding her vaguely of a magic 8 ball.

            “So, looks like we’re getting a start on that early,” Undyne went on.

            Alphys sat back in her chair and tried to remember if she knew how to read. Because that test obviously couldn’t be wrong, but at the same time it wasn’t like this was _happening_ , so she must be reading this wrong, she had to be because _Undyne can’t be having a baby right now I don’t even have the tests step up or vitamins or-_

            “Uh, Al? Might want to take a breath there.”

            Reflexively, Alphys obeyed. In the next moment, she was on her feet and heading towards the few bits of medical equipment she kept in their house. “Get on the couch. We’re checking this out on my machines.”

            The machines didn’t lie either—there, clear as day, the readouts and screens showed a tiny fleck of movement, the tiniest fluctuations of magic fluttering about in Undyne’s womb. Looking at it, Alphys could clearly chart the change that would start going on in Undyne soon. Within a week, the pinpoints of magic would multiple, over and over, until there would be about sixty live pups. And then, the pups would attack and eat their weaker siblings—a perfectly normal aspect of Undyne’s breed of monster. The last child—or rarely, children—would be the one with the best chance of survival. In a world of “kill or be killed”, that meant having children with a head start on making it to adulthood; now, in a post-peace world, it was hardly necessary. It meant Undyne was in for rough pregnancy, months ahead of schedule.

            The scientist promptly forgot how to breathe and started to swoon in her chair before her wife shook her back to reality. As Alphys came back to her senses, she looked—really _looked_ —at Undyne’s face, watched as the concern gave way to amusement and then pure excitement. Her wife _wanted_ this, despite the complications and the chaos and _definitely_ despite the danger. So, Alphys took a breath and thought _okay then. I’ll just have to do what I can._

            She scrambled to get prenatal vitamins and testing, she convinced Undyne that she was just going to have to take her maternity leave earlier whether she wanted to or not. She started tracking the pregnancy, the milestones, the tiny scares along the way.

            She even hid her panic attacks better.

            But not perfectly; which was why, about a month later, she was curled into a ball under her desk, hyperventilating while Frisk lay on the floor just on the other side, clutching the closest of Alphys’ arms and counting breathes. “Look, let’s try counting to eight instead. Alphys, take a breath for me, okay?”

            “She’s going to die,” Alphys squeaked. “Her health wasn’t good enough for this, what was I thinking, saying this was okay? Her hit points have already gone down three points, what am I going to do if they drop more?”

            “Alphys, Undyne’s already back up again,” Frisk tried again. “Remember? Two points. Close enough.”

            “It’s n-never enough!” Alphys snapped. “It’ll go back d-down again and then it’ll k-keep going down and there’s n-nothing I can do about it. Oh, I should have never agreed to this—it wasn’t supposed happen until n-next year! I needed more t-time to set up safe guards and medicine-”

            “Alphys, you have got to breathe-”

            “I’m going to l-lose her.” Alphys shuddered, closing her eyes. “I’m going to watch her d-d-die-!”

            “Alphys,” Frisk repeated, pure steel in their tone making her open her eyes again. “She is not going to die. For one, she is strong, healthy, and very determined to have this baby. You’re too good at your job for another.” They paused to take a breath, hurrying to speak before she had time to start her verbal diarrhea again. “And thirdly, I won’t let it happen.”

            Alphys stared for a long moment. “You can’t s-stop it.”

            She saw them swallow hard before they opened their mouth. Clarity struck her briefly—whatever Frisk was going to say, they were considering it carefully, measuring their words even more than they usually did. This was something important.

            “Maybe not, but I can make it so it never happened.”

            For a sliver of a second, all the rushing chaos in her brain came to an abrupt standstill. “I—w-what?”

            Frisk closed their eyes; when they spoke, it sounded like every word was a knife they were slipping into their soul. “You _know_ what I mean. Reset is a power for the most determined of people and there’s no one more determined than me around. If anything happens to Undyne, if it ever looks like she won’t make it, I swear, I… I will rewind time itself so you can save her.”

            Her hand twitched. “No, you c-can’t. You won’t—Sans told me about—h-he said that you swore to _n-never_ reset. He didn’t say why, b-but—besides, how are you even sure you _c-can_ reset? There hasn’t been any a-anomalies in the space time continuum since before you arrived and-”

            “I can still do it,” they interrupted, their voice so steady, like surf against the shore. “I can,” they paused, frowning. “Feel it. See the option.” Before she could ask them to explain what that meant, they went on. “It’s always there, waiting for me.” They sighed. “The reason why I never used it is—complicated. But honestly, I—I was just a stupid, panicked kid when I made that promise. I didn’t think it through. But over the last year—hell, ever since I came here, I realized that it was never more important than someone’s _life_.” They looked into her face and squeezed her hand. “It’s not more important than Undyne. Alphys, I’ll make you a promise right here, right now. I won’t let Undyne die, and if I have to reset to do it, I _will_.”

            Silence. She was forgetting how to breathe again; she could hear Undyne’s voice in her mind, coaxing her to do so. Without thinking, Alphys obeyed and sweet oxygen filled her lungs. She let herself focus on just taking one breath after another until she choked on a breath and had to snap her mouth shut to bit back a sniff. _“Why,”_ she finally managed, “are you being so nice to me? W-what have I ever done to deserve this… this _p-pity_ from you?”

            After a long moment, Frisk sighed out of their nose and smiled. “Careful, doctor, you’re starting to sound like Sans.”

            Despite her confusion and the anxiety barely being held at bay, Alphys huffed. “Fuck you.”

            Frisk laughed. “It’s true! Do I really need a reason to help you? Is the fact that I happen to like you and Undyne not enough to try and save her?”

            The scientist twitched.

            Frisk reached out and tapped her wrist. “You’re not the first person who has hurt others. I’m no saint, and _yet_ , here I am. People don’t treat me special for it either. They look past my sins, so I look past theirs. Why couldn’t I look past yours or hers? And forgetting that, you’ve chosen not to kill others. You’re doing better for yourself. Undyne is doing better, as is Sans, Toriel and Asgore, Mettaton, and so many others.

            “But,” they admitted with a thoughtful look on their face, “if you really can’t believe that you’re ‘good enough’, than just trust me when I say that I still think you can do better. Dead people _can’t_ , so I won’t let you or her or anyone else die.” They let their hand—heavy and warm, even through their gloves they never took off—rest against her wrist. The touch grounded her, anchoring her to reality and away from the clawing anxiety. “I refuse to let you guys suffer or die.”

            For a moment, she thought she saw a glint of something in their eyes—gold? Or red maybe?—and something in their air changed. They looked ready, steadfast. Determined.

            Had they done it? Had they created a new save point—just for her? Just to save their promise in time?

            Alphys forced herself to take a breath. “Okay,” she managed. “I… I’ll trust you.”

            Frisk smiled. “I won’t let you down.”

 

 

 

 

            “Would you have done it?”

            Frisk reluctantly tore their eyes away from the sight before them; the months, though short in number, had worn on Alphys and Undyne alike, but you wouldn’t have known how badly looking at them now. Both looked tired—and after an intense four month pregnancy with more than a few scares or two, it wasn’t hard to see why—but a sort of incandescent warmth glowed in their faces. Even with bags under their eyes, their faces were softer now. In Undyne’s arms, a scowling baby screamed their displeasure at the world while around them their mothers gazed down in wonder and affection. Papyrus was torn between trying to stand guard at the door—he was taking his position of honorary uncle _very_ seriously—and constantly running back over to delight in the baby. No one else had been allowed in yet, but even that was a break from tradition since apparently no one but the most immediate family was supposed to actually see the baby so soon after birth. Not even Frisk or Sans had been allowed into the recovery room yet.

            Funny; in their original’s world, they’d remembered being excited for Undyne and Alphys when they had children. In this one, their knees were still shaking with relief.

            “Would I have done what?” they finally asked.

            Sans nodded to the room and the happy family inside. “If Undyne hadn’t made it, would you have really reset?”

            What he really meant was ‘ _would you have broken your promise to save them? Were their lives **really** more important than a promise that nearly broke your heart because you had to make it in the first place?’_

            Frisk looked at Undyne and Alphys and their baby and thought about it. They thought back to a day, years ago, when their original’s Sans shattered their heart with his broken question and accusations. Guilt they had justly earned. They thought about that guilt that choked them for months before it finally scared them into running away for over a year. They thought about nights wasted, getting drunk while his words haunted them. They thought about events they missed from their friends’ lives because the guilt ate away at them. They thought about dark moments where they looked down ledges and the only thing keeping them in place was the fear that they’d just reset anyways.

            And then they looked at the happy family in the room across from them.

            “It might have broken my soul in two,” they sighed, “but yes. I don’t know if I could ever had looked anyone, let alone myself, in the eyes again, but I would have done it in a heartbeat.” They paused to look at him and smile. “But don’t worry—I would never reset except to save someone from dying. I made that promise to protect someone’s happiness, but if it comes down it, I’d break it to protect someone else’s life. But that’s the only reason. You never have to worry about waking up Underground again for something stupid.”

            They both stood, leaning against the wall, looking in as Papyrus tried to make the baby smile and Undyne laughed at the child’s contempt.

            Frisk smiled. “They make a cute family.”

            Sans snorted. “Yeah,” he muttered, leaning towards them, “real _‘cute’.”_

            Both of their attentions were drawn towards the direction of the front door as they heard a loud banging. Papyrus appeared at the bedroom door, scowling like he was going to murder someone as he stalked towards the door.

            “If it’s Gerson, let him in!” Undyne shouted from the room.

            Frisk chuckled. “It might get a little loud in here.”

            Before Sans could respond, Gerson appeared in the hall, heading straight for the bedroom while Papyrus trailed behind, watching Gerson closely. The old monster ignored the younger skeleton completely and ducked into the bedroom. “Well, Undyne, I see you survived, eh?”

            “Gerson, you old fuck,” Undyne laughed. “Get over here and look at your grandchild, you piece of shit.”

            “Such tender endearments,” Frisk mused softly.

            “That kid’s gonna have a fucking nightmare of a vocabulary,” Sans added. He paused for a second, turning his head to look up at them. “Hey.”

            They blinked and looked down at him. “Yeah?”

            He took a breath before speaking again. “Even if you did reset and we all woke up Underground and trapped again. Even if it meant having to relive that hell a thousand times, I’d rather have you reset again and again than not wake up to see you again even once, do you understand me? When you go around promising to protect people’s happiness, you better be including your own in there. Look after yourself.”

            Frisk froze, gaping at him. “I—like you’re one to talk,” they stuttered after a moment of staring. Still, when his expression refused to change, they slowly nodded. “Fine. If it’ll make you feel better… then, fine.”

            “Frisk,” he began, still staring at them. “I meant it.”

            Slowly, they shook their head and looked away. “Okay. I promise.”

            “Thank you.”

            For a long minute, they were quiet as they listened to the conversation going on in the room beyond them.

            “So, this kid got a name, or what?” Gerson asked his voice surprisingly soft as the child began to drowsily close their eyes.

            “Naiad,” Undyne answered.

            “A good name,” Papyrus said, sounding stern as his voice shook.

            Undyne laughed at him. “Fuck, Pap, people would think _you_ were the one who had this baby.”

            “It’s a good name! Trust me, I know about good names,” he huffed. The others laughed at him.

            In the hallway, Frisk smiled. They really did make for a cute, happy family.

            It was a happiness they would definitely break their soul in two to protect.

            To their surprise, Alphys appeared at the bedroom door. Frisk straightened as the scientist peered out at them. “T-they’re starting to fall asleep in here,” she announced, voice soft. She shifted from foot to foot. “I-if you wanted to get a look at them before they really conk out, n-now’s your chance.”

            Frisk and Sans stood dumbstruck before Alphys turned and went back into the room, not waiting for their reply. This was a hell of an honor; the only reason Frisk had been there at all was in case of an emergency, as moral support for Alphys if the worse had happened. And yet, here they were, being invited in to see a newborn. Slowly, Frisk took a step forward before glancing back to Sans. “Well?”

            Sans blinked before finally shrugging. “I’m good. Me and babies—not really my thing. You go, knock yourself out.”

            Frisk hesitated a moment and then turned and entered the room. They nodded to Papyrus and Undyne, were ignored by Gerson and Alphys, and took their place at the foot of their bed.

            In the blankets in Undyne’s arms, the baby, flesh as blue as Undyne’s, but with a startling puff of blonde hair haloing their head, let out a tiny sigh, slipping away into peaceful slumber.

            Frisk had to smile. “Beautiful.”

            _Yes_ , they thought. _Without a doubt, I’d do anything to protect this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I could have posted this chapter awhile ago, but I had to really sit down and decide on if I wanted Frisk to verbally acknowledge that they could and would break their promise to Original!Sans not to reset if it meant saving others. I heard it once said that when you make a character arc that character should be able to make a choice they couldn't at the start of their journey--when I thought about it, Frisk at the beginning of The World, Upside Down wouldn't break their promise for almost anything, but I realized that by the end of it, they would have reset if, say, Flowey had really died during the battle with Asgore. Lucky for them, they didn't have to, but after some thought, I realized that yes, they definitely would have.
> 
> My problem with this is that I didn't really want to have that kind of character revelation in what is supposed to be the side stories. However, the fact is that this chapter--this plot point--made too much sense not to commit to it. If I waited to try it with an actual sequel, I'm not sure I could find a good spot for it. So I gave in and you guys get a new chapter.
> 
> Also, ages ago, people asked to see fan babies, so here's the first one! She--she eventually settles on feminine pronouns, but that won't be until later and I couldn't think of a good way to include that here--should show up again in the future with other fan babies.


	43. You Can (Not) Go Back

            The button always waited for Frisk. Sometimes it felt like it was hiding in the edge of their vision, hovering just past the corner of their eye. Truthfully, it only lived inside their mind, in their gut, but mostly in their soul. With a single thought or wish, it would appear in their mind’s eye and then physically before them. No one else could see it, but the button would form from pure white light.

            TRUE RESET

            A simple pair of words that turned gold as they focused on it. As a child, they’d looked at it in bemusement, wondering what it exactly meant, how it was different from a regular reset. After their initial confusion, they put it out of their mind. In the world after the Barrier fell, they finally had friends and family, they had purpose, they had responsibility. They had a second chance—free from the people who hadn’t wanted them and free from their own sins.

            Why would they ever go back?

            Over the years, they could still call the option to them with a thought, although they never had a need to actually do so.  They would summon it, occasionally, just to make sure they still had it, to make sure that the option remained for worst cases scenarios.

            There was never a need, so Frisk only very rarely thought of it.

            And then ten years rolled by and one conversation with Sans later meant that they could never seem to _stop_ thinking about it. Suddenly, the faintly reassuring sight of the option filled them with mind numbing horror. They never quite realized the power that rested in them—the power to come back, to rewind time, to try again. How comforting that view was until someone finally forced them to turn it around and look again.

            The power to destroy everyone’s efforts. The power to erase people from existence, like their friends’ children. The power to trap them all in an endless loop. Isn’t that what had happened to Flowey? He too helped others, again and again, until he stopped.

            Until he got bored. Until he decided that it’d be okay to do one _tiny_ thing different, just to see what would happen. He could always reset and take away any hurt. Good as new, no real harm done, right?

            God, that could so easily be them. How many times had they idly wished they could erase tiny mistakes, reclaim lost chances that passed them by, charm someone they managed to offend? Too many times—it was a very human thing to do, wasn’t it? Everyone had regrets.

            It’s just most people didn’t have the ability to act on them.

            For the few months before they left, Frisk oscillated wildly from absent minded melancholy to panic attack anxiety when they thought about it. They had more panic attacks in those few months than they had in years, usually at night when they’d wake up from a nightmare, terrified that they’d wake up in a bed of golden flowers. Their sleep schedule, always bad, worsened.

            Their decision to leave wasn’t quite a snap decision, but it was practically one. After the party where Sans and Toriel announced their engagement, when Frisk saw the fear in Sans’s face, Frisk had to excuse themselves and go try to steady their breathing in the bathroom. For a moment, when Sans’s mask had fallen, a part of them _longed_ to reset. To try again—maybe they could do better. Maybe they could reach out years ahead of time, do their best to help him. It was a tempting idea, but also so pointedly stupid that it made them want to wretch. They lay in their bed that night, eyes clenched tight to try and ignore the steadfast glow of the button just waiting to be pressed. They were so afraid they might somehow give in as they slept, they gave up sleep and instead snuck out before dawn.

            The thought of it haunted them all day as they hung out with Asgore and then went to go see their old friends. It distracted them at every meal, during every talk, even as they tried to steal time for a nap. It refused to leave, forcing their eyes open.

            They began to ache at the idea of just getting up and leaving the option behind, that if they ran fast and long enough, it would leave them alone.

            Running away was better than resetting, wasn’t it?

            So Frisk left.

            At first, it was oddly freeing, just getting up and leaving everything behind. They got on a bus, filled to the brim with an almost manic energy that made them grin as they pulled out of the bus terminal. For a while, they distracted themselves with meeting old friends, making new ones, going to parties, and couch surfing. It was fun and new and never boring.

            Everyone was safe as long as they never grew bored. They’d never become like Flowey then.

            _(And maybe Sans could forgive them, or at least stop being so afraid. His eyes haunted them as much as the button did.)_

            But it was barely two weeks before they grew restless. Were they homesick? They couldn’t remember being homesick—surely they must have been, especially back when they were first put into foster care as a child. They mused over their muddled emotions, irritated, until the thought popped into their mind.

            What if this it? The start of them growing bored—restlessness made sense if they were bored, right? In their mind, the glow of the button returned, shining on their back like an unforgiving sun.

            They thought had barely done a full lap around their head before they stood and walked away, not bothering to stick around and say goodbye. They caught a cab and drove to some place loud, full, lively, and very entertaining.

            The cycle began in earnest then. They’d find some place new, have some fun, make some friends, and then grow restless. They’d find a ride out of town and try somewhere new again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

            Always, the option waited, patient. It was only when they threw themselves into whatever it was they were doing that it sank back in their mind. New adventures during the day—mountain climbing, skydiving, sightseeing, trying every new dish they could find. At nights, it was some drinks, some dancing, some warm inviting bodies—anything to keep them rolling on. It was safer that way.

            It was usually late at night, when their companions finally gave up and sought beds that the restlessness returned. When the bars closed down, the drinks dried up, and their lovers sank into the sheets, Frisk was at their most vulnerable. If they were lucky, they could drink themselves sleepy, party themselves exhausted, or at least cuddle the nightmares away. But their sleep had never been good and sometimes they were alone with their thoughts.

            Their damning thoughts.

            And when that happened, that’s when the ledges started looking inviting.

            It was always ledges—balconies, cliffs, roof edges. Even as a child, they’d walked up a forbidden mountain and looked into the gaping maw of the Underground. Frisk wasn’t sure why it was always ledges. If they fell badly, but not bad enough, then they could really screw themselves over—you couldn’t runaway if you were quadriplegic after all. But at the same time, there was something about the long drop that called them. Maybe it had something to do with nearly drowning as a child—that familiar feeling of plunging down, weightless. But it wasn’t water that called them.

            Maybe there was some poetic nonsense about them being a child of air, trying to return to their element by escaping the earth, and not some child of water trying to return to the womb of the sea. But really, when it came down to it, Frisk decided it was probably the speed of falling, the sudden stop, and then nothing.

            Yeah. That was probably it.

            One bad night, worse than the others, Frisk stepped out on the balcony of a hotel’s seventeenth floor and looked down. The ground looked so far away—it had rained just minutes before and the ground sparkled in the city lights.

            How long would it take them to hit the ground? Surely, just a few heartbeats and then—if only they could get a better look, just to be sure-

_(Surely, they’d burnt the last of their bridges by now—they hadn’t spoken to their parents in months, nor their friends or even acquaintances. Surely, no one would miss them—hell, they’d just be getting permanently out of those people’s hair. And maybe Sans could finally rest easy, maybe he could-)_

            Frisk jerked back, stumbling against the wall as they realized they’d been absentmindedly looking for footholds. They were terrified to think of why they wanted to climb over the railing.

            But, if they stopped to think about it—if they were _brave_ enough to think about it—they would have known why.

            That was not the last ledge Frisk had to pull themselves back from, but they learned how to be more careful. Keep it light, keep busy, keep it exciting—Frisk chased thrills, experiences, and adventure like they were chasing the dragon. But more than anything, they found they had to keep moving. Like outrunning an avalanche, Frisk worried that slowing down meant that it would finally catch up.

            Too bad you can’t run forever.

            After months of running, Frisk’s past caught up with them. It was already a bittersweet sort of night—Frisk was traveling with another set of companions, but this time, they’d gotten a lot closer than they meant to. All good things have to come to an end, and the group had already agreed that it was time to split. There was Antonio, the driver of an ancient VW bus that was only holding together with some epoxy, wire, and enough determination to impress Frisk; he was the smart, sarcastic one, the one who could make pancakes and sing a million commercial jingles. There was Sophie, the guitarist who serenaded them when the radio broke down—which was often. There was Tegan, the dreamer, the _artiste_ , the one whose daddy had too much money for his own good and was funding some of the group’s adventures.

            And then there was Kiku.

            _God_ , Frisk was going to miss Kiku. Kiku, the person Frisk admired more than anyone else. She was the honest, the knowing, the strongest.

            Due shortly to become The One That Got Away.

            But that was to be after the show; Kiku was also the diehard Mettaton fan. So now, to celebrate their last night together, Frisk had wrangled them all some tickets to Mettaton’s show. Frisk had been avoiding any chance of running into their oldest friends before this, but tonight was their going away present, so Frisk bit the bullet and went into that packed stadium with a smile on their face.

            After all, it wasn’t like Mettaton would be able to spot them in a crowd of thousands, right?

            Spoilers: Mettaton _totally_ could spot them in a crowd of thousands, and then force them to join him on stage before he whisked them backstage to be babysat by Papyrus.

            It was a busy night after that. Papyrus cried in delight over then and then made them call home; Kiku and the others formed a rescue party that quickly became a quartet of groupies when Mettaton interrupted them. As the night dragged on, Frisk finally disentangled themselves from their old friends to go back to the hotel to get some sleep. It was almost dawn when they found themselves sitting up in bed, Kiku’s head pillowed in their lap, as they watched the stars fading out. In a few hours, the group would disband; Antonio and Tegan were heading to Warsaw, Sophie to a tiny town in rural France, and brilliant Kiku would be heading home to Chicago.

            They’d be alone soon. Papyrus had tried to beg them and Mettaton had done his best to command them to go home, but Frisk’s stomach cramped at the thought. But there was little the celebrity could do to really force them since he had to be on the road in half an hour and Papyrus was still on tour with him.

            Funny. Frisk had abandoned plenty of companions before now; hell, they’d left home with hardly a trace, hadn’t they? And yet, now, during the one time they were going to have a proper goodbye, it was taking all Frisk had not to race out of the hotel into the murky night.

            Gently slipping away from Kiku’s sleepy grasp, they began to pace automatically. The noise started to rouse her, so they quickly ducked out onto the balcony. That was a bad idea though, as they immediately drifted to the rail. They cursed themselves for not thinking to grab a cigarette before they looked down—they were up higher than usual tonight. The twenty third floor which had been a steal of a price for the rooms since the elevator only worked up two thirds of the way so they had to climb the rest of the way up.

            _I’m full of bad decisions tonight,_ they thought as they forced themselves to take a step back. What were they doing? Why did they have to keep tempting fate like this? Why were they doing _any_ of this? Why were they forcing themselves to stay here and say goodbye? Why not escape while they could? Why not convince the others that they should stay together, just for a little while longer? Why not just—just jump onto Kiku’s flight and stay with her for longer? They hadn’t seen Chicago in awhile, so why not?

            Why had they let themselves get so close to her and the others? Why had they bothered to leave home? Why had they let Sans’s words eat them alive like this why had they hurt so many monsters and people why did they keep doing this to themselves why

            Why didn’t they just reset already?

            Frisk clapped their hands over their ears, as if it would keep the questions in their head out. What the hell were they _thinking?_ How could they even begin to think that?

            And why did it have to sound so good?

            Groaning, Frisk pressed their hands harder against their ears and tried not to sob. Their thoughts were racing, their heart was thundering, and they wanted nothing better to take a step backwards, back to the railing, and

            They turned.

            In the murky predawn light, the air around them should have still been dark. Instead, the soft, familiar white light that filled them with dread glowed.

            True Reset. Like a promise—press this button, and start fresh. Press and no one would ever have to remember.

            Press it and destroy it all anew.

            Giving in, Frisk tried to choke back a shriek as they swung their hand, clumsily, into the side of the option.

            To their shock, the letters cracked and shattered, the light vanishing.

            In the shadows, Frisk took a breath.

            After a moment, Frisk took another breath. “Son of a bitch,” they whispered. “It’s just… gone?” All that time, that thing had haunted them and what? They could have broken it ages ago and be rid of it?

            They laughed, still confused but elated, and reached out into the empty air. Gone, just like that.

            Still, they had to pause. Biting their lip, they hesitatingly reached out with their mind, calling.

            The option returned, glowing bright and steady.

            Frisk’s breath left their lungs like it had been pulled out of them. Their shoulders dropped and their arms fell to their sides. _Of course,_ a dark, wry voice murmured in their brain as their happiness crumbled like ash. _Of course I can’t even have that much._

Biting back a sob, Frisk gritted their teeth and swung their arm into the letters again, shattering them. The momentum carried them forward and they fell against the railing. This time, it was pain that sucked the breath from their lungs as the bar collided painfully with their ribs. Groaning, they propped themselves against the bar with their elbows and looked down as they tried to catch their breath.

            _Looking down a ledge again_ , they thought. _Such a familiar sight._

 _Fuck, what am I doing?_ They’d been on the road for months, keeping busy, and yet here they were, playing with the stupid reset button. What if they’d accidentally hit it? _Could_ they accidentally reset? They shuddered at the thought.

            They gazed down at the ground, many floors down, and frowned. If they _did_ die, couldn’t they just choose to not return? Or would they just be yanked back into the Underground without any of their input?

            They blinked. Could they just be yanked back? No, surely not, right? If they weren’t determined enough, control would go to someone else, to whoever was more determined, right? And, if it was someone new, then they couldn’t be able to touch their old save. With their old save gone, monsters would be safe from ever being forced back under the mountain.

            That was, unless, the person who got the save was Flowey. Flowey was the only one left who could have a save from _before_ the liberation of monsters. But as cruel as he could be, would he really want to pull everyone back to the start again? They had no idea what he was doing now—was he still tending to the flowers and Chara’s grave, or had he moved out of the Underground and gone exploring the surface? What if he was already dead—who knew how long a flower-infused-with-monster-dust could last anyway? But even if he was still alive, even if he was still cruel enough to steal everyone’s freedom, as long as Frisk was alive and determined, the save was safe.

            So, all they had to do was keep living. While maybe they were the most determined _now_ , surely in the future another human would come along with determination enough to keep the save file away from Flowey. In that case, the solution was easy—just live long enough for someone new to take over.

            But, the most important part of that sentence was that they _had_ to stay alive, at least a little longer. Just to keep monsters safe—they could do that much.

            Slowly, they straightened up and looked out into the sky. Golden light broke through the clouds; dawn had snuck up on them and they hadn’t even noticed. It brought them no joy—they were in no way looking forward to the goodbyes today—but they took a tiny bit of pleasure in surviving the gloom of the night before. There would be more nights like last night, they realized without pleasure. Many more of them, likely, and they would have to fight through them all, just to protect the others. They would have to endure.

            Well. It wasn’t like they hadn’t done that before.

            Squaring their shoulders, Frisk turned and headed back into the room, to enjoy the few precious hours they had before they had to say goodbye. As they slipped back inside, they spared one last glance to the dawn’s streaming light. It reminded them of the light of the option, patient and clear, foreboding and hopeful all the same.

            _I can do this,_ they promised—to spite or to affirm, they weren’t sure, but they felt their will grow steady. They wouldn’t fail, and that was all there was to it. They would do it for however long they needed to and then one day, they would hand over the burden to someone else. The promise of the future would be enough. It would have all been worth it then. The button would go on, unused.

            Smiling faintly, they headed inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awhile ago, kawaiiloverq requested a chapter with Frisk dealing with the power of True Reset. While I was trying to write it, the idea started to morph and change and now I'm entirely sure this is what you wanted, but I don't know where else to go with it.
> 
> Sometimes, writing is like that.


	44. It's enough to drive you crazy if you let it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place not long after chapter 29, College Trouble, where Chara has to fend off some would-be assassins in their dorm room which puts it about ten years after the end of The World, Upside Down.

            Somewhere left of Asriel’s head, an alarm began to wail. Flinching, he squeezed his eyes shut tight and began to fumble around his nightstand. He knocked over several things before he remembered the alarm was on his phone, which was buried under his pillow. Groaning, he found his phone, pulled it out, and blindly shut off the alarm before dropping the phone back down.

            _I hate you._

            Asriel sighed, too tired to even open his eyes. God, he didn’t want to have to deal with this first thing in the morning. “You don’t hate me,” he grumbled, trying to find the will to sit up.

            _I **loathe** you._

            “You _loathe_ getting up before noon. That’s what you hate.”

            _Getting up at five in the morning qualifies as more than just ‘getting up before noon’. And it is your fault I have to put up with this._

“We need this internship for _your_ degree,” he argued. He tried to open one of his eyes, but the dark shadows of their room were blurry and all encompassing. Ugh. The sun wasn’t even up yet. Truly, a godforsaken time of day.

            _If you had kept your mouth shut then we would have only needed to do one. We could have just tailed along as Frisk’s assistant for a few weeks. Brought them coffee. Meet a few politicians. Turned in a thesis to your Poli-Sci professor at the end. But no. You had to go blurt out that we could also do my internship too. We probably could have gotten excused from it entirely if we just played on their sympathies._

“We are _not_ conning our way out of doing actual schoolwork,” he sighed and finally forced himself up onto his elbows, even if his head still refused to come up off his pillow. “Look, people were still looking at us funny for your little ‘hero work’ when you ‘saved’ our dorm mates.”

            _There is no need for quotation marks. I **did** save them. The ungrateful little shits._

            “Arguable. You did _scare_ the shit out of them though.” Why did waking up have to be so hard? “Besides, mom would never forgive us if she found out we wormed our way out of doing your internship—she’d probably haul us back to school and tattle on us to them about it.” When they didn’t retort back immediately, he sighed. “Chara, I’m too _tired_ for this. Can’t we talk about it, I don’t know, tomorrow?”

            _Tomorrow we will be getting up at the same exact time. I have a right to complain._

“Chara,” he groaned almost a little too loudly. “What do I have to give you to let me get today started in peace?”

            _I want ChocoPuffs. In a bowl of chocolate milk._

            Asriel winced, his teeth already hurting at the idea of that much sugar so early in the morning.

            _And I want you to put chocolate syrup in as well._

“What? No! I draw a line at chocolate syrup in my cereal.”

            There was a slight pause and then Chara made the pointed sound as if to clear their throat. _I will now recall—in minute detail—the night you first got drunk. And proceeded to-_

            “Chocolate nightmare it is,” Asriel yelped, scrambling out of their bed. He almost tripped over a box of Chara’s books they still hadn’t gotten around to unpacking. With all but being banned from the college’s campus, then the move not long afterward, then their new courses and internships, neither of them had much energy or patience to really dig out their things from the collection of boxes littering the floor. Really, they knew they should clean up soon—if they didn’t, Papyrus was liable to do it for them and then they’d never figure out where everything was—but they just couldn’t find the ambition. This morning wasn’t any different, so they fished some clean clothes out of the laundry basket that Papyrus had left them the night before, got dressed, and stumbled like a zombie down the stairs.

            After colliding with three walls and nearly falling down the stairs halfway down, he managed to stagger into the kitchen. Not surprisingly, Papyrus was up—Papyrus always seemed to be awake no matter how early they got up. What was surprising, however, that Frisk was also up. From the stacks of papers around them that they were flipping through, they had probably been up most the night.

            Their guardian—he was still technically under their protection for a few more years until he turned twenty—looked up at them and smiled warmly before it turned wry. “Morning, sweetheart. You look a little frazzled there.”

            “Brain dead, more like it,” he groaned, shambling forward until he collided with a chair; he grabbed it and used it to prop himself upright.

            “Mm, that too,” they grinned, sipping their coffee. “Want some? You look like you need a pick me up.”

            He grimaced at the thought. “I’ll get an energy drink or something later.”

            “Suit yourself.”

            “Good morning, your highness,” Papyrus called, his voice ringing in Asriel’s head. He walked towards the table, a stack of thick, fluffy pancakes of a plate that he then slid it towards Frisk. “It’s good to see you up and ready to go so early in the morning. How would you like some pancakes as well?”

            Asriel glanced at Frisk who was currently dousing their pancakes in some sort of thick, dark syrup; they paused to give him a thumbs up.

            “He did it all himself, with a little supervision.” Then, like the heathen they were, they ripped off a piece of the pancake with their fingers and popped it into their mouth. “It’s really tasty!” _For something Papyrus made_ , he could practically hear them add.

            Shuddering at them—seriously, who ate pancakes with their bare fingers and not a fork?—he thought to Chara. _Pancakes?_

_Ask him for chocolate chips and I will consider it. And I want chocolate syrup still._

_You and your damn syrup._ “Can we get chocolate chips in ours?”

            “Of course. Tell Chara good morning for me,” he said before heading towards the cupboard where they kept the chocolate chips—they had to keep multiple bags, just in case Chara went on a tear, consuming all they chocolate they could find.

            _Tell him hello from me too._

            “Chara says hi,” Asriel said before dropping into a chair. He glanced at the stacks of papers surrounding Frisk, abandoned for a moment so Frisk could stuff their face with pancakes. “Did you go to sleep at _all_ last night?”

            “For about an hour,” Frisk shrugged. “I’ll take a nap later. I only have one meeting today.”

            “Lucky,” he sighed. “I have, like, three.”

            “Ah, the glamorous life of an intern and college student.”

            “You wouldn’t know. You didn’t do either.”

            Frisk grinned. “That’s right. Now I get to live vicariously through you.”

            “Go find someone else who you can leech their life experiences off of.”

            The ambassador snorted. “Someone’s in a grumpy mood this morning. What, did Chara threaten you again with embarrassing stories to get you up on time?”

            Asriel was intensely grateful for his fur in that moment—at least no one saw how red his face became. Luckily, Papyrus arrived with his first pancake, so he ignored Frisk in favor of breakfast.

            By the end of the meal, he felt a little more awake—or that might have been the sugar rush. He decided to capitalize on it while he could and got himself ready for work. Saying goodbye to Frisk and Papyrus, he got on his bike and took off. While driving to work, he had to make a pit stop to buy an energy drink at a corner store. The cashier stared up at him blankly as they worked the cash register, but at least they didn’t say anything mean or stupid. Ducking back out, he started to drive again.

            The drive into the city felt stupidly long; it wouldn’t be so bad if he could still live on campus, but that wasn’t going to be happening again anytime soon. He also would have happily gone with a company that was closer to home. Problem was half the companies that Chara could intern at weren’t interested in taking on either Prince of Monsters—they were considered too high profile and what if the company somehow offended on all monsters by firing their princes? Or worse, what if people expected them to actually offer them a paying job at the end of the internship? The other half of the companies Chara flatly refused to consider.

            So, their only option was an hour long drive into a traffic locked city that would take them another half hour to get through.

            It was kind hard to blame Chara for being grumpy, really.

             After what felt like an age, Asriel finally got to park his bike and then marched into the building, slurping at his energy drink, desperate to get one last hit of sugar before he had to get inside.

            _Okay, my part’s done. Your turn,_ he thought, rousting Chara out of the back of their mind where they’d been slipping into a vegetative state from boredom like they always did when they had to put up with long rides.

            _Oh, **joy.**_ The expression on their face faded from Asriel’s exhaustion to their disdain. They stalked up to their work section, to their desk, and then slumped ungracefully into their chair. They sat there for a moment, glaring at the computer screen before them as if it had insulted their mother.

            _Um, Chara? You’re going to have to turn the computer on there._

_I. Hate. Everything._

_No, you don’t._

_This has nothing to do with my degree._

_Yes, it does. Stop stalling and turn the computer on._

_I am not a digital artist. I am sure to hell not a video editor. This **literally** has nothing to do with any sort of art I’m interested in._

_Chara, please, for goodness’s sake, get to work before we punch in late. I did not get up that early just for you to be late because you wanted to whine about working here._

_Shut up. I despise you._

_That’ll change come quitting time and you’ll need me to bribe that barista down the street to give you more whipped cream in your hot chocolate._

_Silence. I have work to do,_ they thought with a real disdainful sniff. While their soul mate chuckled at them, they reluctantly turned the computer on and logged into the system.

            Despite their (non)vocal contempt for their work, Chara did manage to fall into a rhythm as they worked, actually managing to get a few things done before a hand drifted across their shoulders. It took everything they had not to accidentally destroy the keyboard below their fingers as they winced. Slowly, they glared over their shoulder until they found the idiot who had the audacity to touch them. Even if they were using Asriel’s body, disgust still roiled in their belly.

            Smiling in what Chara could only considered to be disgustingly chipper for being before noon and obviously fake, the blonde woman from three desks down gazed at them. “Hey, Chara, just thought I’d remind you that we have a meeting in ten minutes for the new video project.”

            Trying desperately not to give into the urge to at least scoff at her, Chara forced their hands to relax. “I am aware,” they bit out.

            Blondie—they refused to learn her name at this point—just smiled again. “Okay, just don’t forget, alright?” She didn’t even wait to hear their response, just drifted away as she waved absently, almost patting their arm before they dodged.

            They had enough dignity to not scowl after her, but when they turned back towards their computer screen, they happened to look past it to see their neighbor on the other side of the long tables they used for desks. Nasir, a young man with a glamorous head of black hair that even Chara could envy, looked at them for a long moment before silently holding up the can of disinfectant he kept on his desk.

            Chara smirked and had to really consider it before shaking his head.

            Nasir shrugged and returned to his work. Nasir, they decided, was perhaps one of the few acceptable humans they’d ever met, mostly on the account of his silence and occasional bits of wry humor. It made the job a little easier, not that it was exactly _easy_ at the moment.

            Their groove thoroughly thrown off, they gave up after a few minutes and started grabbing what they would need for the meeting. Laptop tucked under one arm, they trudged off in the direction they’d seen Blondie go, trying to remember what conference room the meeting was supposed to be in. Luckily, after a few doors, they peeked in and saw Blondie yammering away with some other workers. They slid in as silently as they could and took a seat, then wasted as much time as they could getting situated and setting up their laptop. Finally, they began to just start typing away at something—anything, just to look busy—but it wasn’t enough. Quickly, they became aware that the other people in the room were staring at them intently. Worse, one of them, some pretty boy who was very aware of _how_ pretty he was, leaned over.

            “Hey,” the man began, smiling in what was probably supposed to be in a very charming way. “I’m Mike.”

            “Mm. Hello,” they said evenly, already forgetting his name.

            “I just wanted to say,” he began; besides him, Blondie giggled while the other person sighed dreamily, “that I’m a big fan.”

            _Oh, no. Another monster fucker._

_Chara, we agreed you weren’t going to call people that. You’re being mean. And a hypocrite._

Well. Asriel had them dead to rights on both accounts—it wasn’t like Chara would ever be caught dead in a relationship with a human. Besides, monsters were already better to humans in every way; it was only inevitable that they would be preferable to date too.

            Still, this guy just smacked of being either creepy or after something. Chara had no interest in finding out if either hunch was true. “Your interest in monster kind’s welfare is appreciated,” they said blandly before turning back to the computer screen. When the hell was this meeting going to start anyway?

            “Oh, I’m _very_ interested monsters,” Mike continued. Blondie actually tittered besides him. “I was wondering, would you be interested in discussing your, ah, _welfare_ over lunch?”

            Oh god. A monster fucker _and_ he was trying to wrangle an interview, probably for an exposé. If Chara was right about this guy, that would make it the fourteenth such request since they’d started this internship and they hadn’t even been there a month.

            _I hate this job._

 _Well._ Asriel sounded like he was scrambling for some small comfort. _At least they’re consistent?_

_Consistent pains in my ass._

Before Chara could say something scathing to the human occupants of the room that would probably come back to bite them some way in the ass—as it always seemed to do—the division leader for their section finally walked in. She called them to order and Chara was spared from getting some dark mark on their record just yet.

            The meeting was soul sucking-ly boring, but Chara managed to stay awake throughout it. The minute it was done, Chara absconded from the room and made a beeline for their desk. As they got close, Nasir looked up at them, quirked a brow, and then held up the can of disinfectant again.

            Without a word, Chara snatched it up and began to spray a cloud of disinfectant around them. Sure, it made them hack, but they did, for a moment feel, clean. It even got a chuckle out of Nasir.

 

 

 

            It was not even lunch and Chara wanted to die. Well, not literally—been there, done that, it sucked, no need for a repeat performance, thanks. No, but honestly, if the small army that was in line for the printer didn’t start moving faster, they seriously considered quitting and running into the streets where they would laugh in freedom.

            Or murder everyone else. _God_ , murder sounded good right now.

            _Chara, no._

_I have to stand in line. Listen to these busybodies gossip and snipe at each other. I will be late to lunch. Let me plot murder in peace, damn you._

_You’re just hungry._ They could hear Asriel huffing, sounding put upon. _Today’s my day still, you know. I’m the one who gets to pick where we eat for lunch._

_You got me stuck in this stupid internship. I will decide where to eat today._

_Chara, don’t be a brat. Besides, I want to go to that new Vietnamese place. I heard they have fantastic pho there and I want to try it._

Well. Pho _was_ pretty tasty. Reluctantly, they shelved their ideas for murder and instead tried to focus on the line slowly inching forward. Unfortunately, as they began to focus on their surroundings, they couldn’t help but to overhear the conversations going on around them.

            _“-and then this schmuck has the audacity to try and claim that the project was **his** idea, right in front of me-!”_

_“Did you see what Sunshine was wearing today? Like, she’s nice and all, but that girl has no business trying to pull off-”_

_“Oh my god, I am living for this new Italian coffee blend I got! You’ve got to try some. I have some more back at my desk-”_

            “-well, yeah, they might seem nice, but you know who they _really_ are,” said one voice somewhere behind them. Chara tried not to noticeably tense up, but they couldn’t help tightening their grip on their arms that they had folded over their chest. “ _Those_ guys might be playing nice for now, but if they _turn on us…”_

            The voice—a woman in her mid twenties from Chara’s guess—did not come right out and say ‘monsters’. Who knows—maybe she was being racist against some other group entirely. All the same, it took everything Chara had not to whirl around and summon a knife to take off the tip of her nose.

            In their head, Asriel sighed, voice tight. _Well, maybe we’ll go to that café for lunch instead. The one that sells those little chocolate pastries. You like that place, right?_

Closing their eyes, Chara resisted the urge not to sigh back. _No, no. We will have pho._

_Are you sure? Like, I agree, you deserve it at this point._

_I can stomach this. I am an adult._ Still, they shot a sidelong glance over their shoulder and got a good look at the rude woman behind them who blanched when she noticed their gaze. _All the same. A human like that does not deserve to share the same world as monsters._

_Chara, no._

Chara sighed to themselves. “Spoilsport,” they grumbled, under their breath.

            Ahead of them, the printer let out an unholy wail. Everyone in line groaned as a person began to shout for someone to go find a technician.

            Chara closed their eyes and quietly began to long for death once more.

 

 

 

            “Ah, so, here you are!”

            Chara paused before glancing up at the figure that had appeared besides them. It was what’s-his-face from the meeting—Mark? Mitch? Monty? Whatever. He was still smiling obnoxiously at them, leaning down and into their personal space. They leaned away and caught Nasir also looking up at the intruder like a bug. At least Nasir understood their struggle. Forcing their face into a polite expression, they looked back up at the man. “Do you need something?”

            “Remember me? It’s Mike from the meeting from earlier,” he paused to laugh—pompously. “Not that I’m what anyone would consider forgettable!”

            “Mm,” Chara hummed noncommittally. “Like leprosy.”

            Across from them, Nasir chuckled.

            Mike blinked, obviously lost, but went instantly back to smiling. “Anyway, it’s not so much how you could help me,” he paused to lean in and Chara watched ominously as his gaze dipped down to their mouth. Instinctually, they sucked their lips into their mouth—a hard trick considering it was Asriel’s long snout—but that didn’t seem to bother Mike. Instead, he just licked his own lips. “But rather, how could I help _you?”_

            _You could die,_ was their first thought followed closely by _never speaking to me again._

 _Ugh,_ Asriel groaned. _This guy really **is** a creep._

“I am in need of no assistance,” Chara answered crisply before looking back at their computer.

            “Aw, come on now. _Everyone_ needs help,” he went on, still grinning widely. “They just may not realize at the moment.”

            “I assure you,” they nearly hissed through their teeth. “I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

            There was a slight pause where Chara almost began to hope that they’d finally gotten through to him, but then started talking again. “Well, alright, maybe _you_ don’t need help, but maybe someone _else_ you know does.”

            Closing their eyes for a moment, they mustered the dregs of their patience and looked up at him. “What are you talking about.” It wasn’t a question.

            “Maybe some _ones_ you know could use help, such as getting their voices heard,” he said, voice lilting as he tried to look coy. “Your people, for one, could probably use a sympathetic ear to listen to them, huh?”

            To stop themselves from snapping their keyboard in their grip, they rose and walked to the coffee machine, their mug shaking in their grasp. To hide that, they let it hang loosely at their side, even as it did drip some old dregs of coffee on the ground as they went. Infuriatingly, Mike followed them all the way to the coffee pot. Forcing their jaw to relax, they reached for the pot, even if they could feel the lack of warmth coming from the liquid inside. “My people have a very competent ambassador to speak for them.” They would never say that to Frisk’s face—their ego would be insufferable for weeks afterward—but it was true. They were never quite as eloquent as Frisk, although Frisk did have many years of practice on Chara.

            Also, this little jerk with delusions of grandeur was not going to put out any article that might change the tide of public opinion.

            Distressingly, this hardly seemed to bother Mike. Instead, he glanced at Chara’s mouth _again._ “Fair enough. But you know,” he leaned forward, hand reaching for Chara’s shoulder. “Maybe your _brother_ would disagree. Maybe he’d know a good _opportunity_ when he sees one instead? Hey, maybe he and I should meet. For lunch!”

            _Okay. I’m giving you full permission to plot this guy’s murder. You just can’t follow through, though!_

Chara wanted to snarl. They wanted to take the coffee machine’s carafe and smash it over this man’s head. Instead, Chara shoved the carafe back into the machine and put on their blandest smile. “My brother already has plans for lunch. They cannot possibly be changed.” They dipped their head in a nod as they dumped the lukewarm coffee into the sink next to the machine. “Actually. We are late already. Please excuse me,” they stepped past him. Before they entirely passed him by, the shot him a sidelong glare. _“Matt.”_

            Leaving him there, stunned silent at last, Chara hurried off as fast as they could manage while still looking dignified. An idea came to their mind and after a brief conversation with Asriel, they made a beeline for their desk. Once they were there, Nasir looked up at them as they leaned across their desk and computer to look directly into his face. “Would you like to join me and my brother for lunch?”

            Nasir blinked up at them. “Lunch?”

            They nodded. “We will be having pho.”

            Nasir stared at them a second before his gaze slid past them to glare for a moment at Mike, who was still standing by the coffee maker, stunned and now gawking them both. He smirked. “Just so you know, I’m not looking for romance right now.”

            Chara raised their eyebrows. “I have no intention of dating in the first place.”

            Nasir considered them again before finally standing. “Well, I do like pho.” He shot a glare at Mike’s back. “And I _do_ hate him.”

            “Already we have much in common,” Chara said bluntly as they started walking to the stairs exit.

 

 

 

            Lunch was surprisingly nice. Which was probably because Chara immediately handed the reins over to Asriel, who was more than happy to talk to Nasir. In fact, the two seemed to hit it off right away and began to chat about their lives. Chara learned more about Nasir’s past, family, and personal views in ten minutes than they had since they started their job. The man was friendly, funny, and polite as he and Asriel practically rubbed their knees together as they squeezed into a tiny booth at the restaurant. Even the tight confines didn’t seem to bother the two as they ordered their food and kept right on talking.

            The two young men were getting along great.

            In fact, it might have been a little too good.

            _I did not mean for you to turn this into a **date,** Az,_ Chara grumbled.

            _Life’s just funny that way,_ Asriel shot back, a little too smug for this all to be an accident.

            Goddamnit. Had their clumsy best friend actually managed to manipulate them into setting this up? No. Surely this just had to be coincidence. Well, remembering Asriel’s quick agreement to this plan, maybe not.

            Damn. They’d underestimated him either way.

            Still, they’d be more impressed if he wasn’t blatantly scooting his chair forward just to get closer to their coworker. What was worse, Nasir seemed to be doing the exact same thing.

            Unbelievable.

            _This internship is the worst thing to ever happen to me._

_Nonsense. Dying was the worst thing to ever happen to you or me._

Chara paused, shocked and amused. _Oh no. It’s true. You and I **have** spent too much time together if you’re actually making jokes about our death._

  _Well, it’s like Frisk says. Sometimes if you can’t laugh about something, you might just end up crying over it. Might as well laugh if we can._

_Ugh. Crybaby Asriel grew up and got sassy. What is the world coming to?_

_Oh, hush. Our pho will be here soon enough. Hang tight until then._

Chara _might_ have managed to endure the indignity of being Asriel’s third wheel if there wasn’t one little problem added to the mix. As Asriel and Nasir talked, the distance between them shrinking so subtly that Chara wondered if they were the only one to notice it, there was a tiny knocking sound behind Nasir. As both turned to look, Chara could have cursed the air blue; on the other side of the glass, Frisk grinned knowingly at them and waved.

            Chara could feel Asriel’s face burning with a blush, but the prince still managed a wave as Frisk ducked into the restaurant.

            “Hello, dear. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” they said. Chara was half surprised they weren’t purring, they looked so happy with their discovery.

            “No, no, of course not,” Asriel babbled, trying to put a casual smile on his face and failing miserably. “But what are you doing here?”

            “Silly,” they chuckled. “I’m the one who told you about this place. I’m here to pick up lunch for me and Sans.” Rather than let him fluster over that though, they turned to smile brightly at Nasir. “And who, may I ask, is your handsome companion today?”

            Nasir looked a little amused himself as he offered Frisk his hand. “Nasir, please. I’m one of Chara’s co-workers.”

            “Really? And how is working with our darling princes?”

            While Chara sighed while Asriel tried not to groan, Nasir only chuckled. “It’s very… enlightening. And entertaining. Asriel was just telling me about how you taught him how to drive his bike.”

            Frisk laughed. “Oh, that’s a fun one. Make sure to have him tell you about the time he saved me from almost cracking my skull open when I lost control on a wet road. He was very dashing then.”

            Nasir looked intrigued and Asriel went from drowning in embarrassment to suddenly sheepishly scratching his neck. “Uh, that one’s not so interesting. It was just lucky.”

            “Lucky for my skull maybe,” Frisk snorted before pausing. “Ah, Sans is probably wondering what’s taking so long. I’ll get out of your hair.” After saying a polite goodbye to Nasir, Frisk dipped down to hug Asriel. Whispering so only he could hear, they spoke to him. “I’d remind you two not to shit where you eat, but that’d be hypocritical. Just have fun and be smart about it, okay?”

            Asriel and Chara alike both wanted to die on the spot.

            _Stupid internship,_ Chara thought waspishly.

 _Oh,_ Asriel sighed as he turned back to Nasir. _It’s not all so bad._

Chara threw their proverbial hands into the air and settled in to fume in the back of Asriel’s skull. After all, they still had a few more hours before their shift was over and they had the feeling that Asriel was probably going to want to set up another date after this one.

            Well, at least Asriel was too busy flirting to stop them from plotting the hypothetical murders of their most annoying coworkers. Resigning themselves to only dreaming, they settled in and tried to enjoy their break. One thing was certain though—they were definitely going to force Asriel to go get them some chocolate pastries after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a request from kawaiiloverq, who wanted to see Asriel and Chara working, either carrying out royal duties or as part of the workforce. I honestly wanted to show both, but I ran out of time and inspiration, so I went with just the workforce part--although, there will be a future chapter exploring the two dealing with some royal duties, so we should get to see that too, soon enough.
> 
> In case you're wondering, Nasir and Asriel don't work out in the long run--this won't turn into a Asriel/OC story, sorry.
> 
> Damn, I know there was something I wanted to say here, but I can't remember what. Oh well.


	45. Date Crashers

            “Human, I need to talk to you about something.”

            Papyrus asked the question—well, perhaps “asked” is too strong a word for it—as Frisk collected the dishes from the table. They had all just finished dinner; Asriel paused midstride, foot still in the air as he glanced back towards them. Sans, who’d been sipping whiskey tonight, lazily opened one eye socket to see what his brother was up to.

            Frisk only smiled patiently as they stacked up the plates, which was a little tricky seeing as most still had some food on them—tonight was not one of Papyrus’s more successful dinners, despite his general improved cooking skills. “Yeah? I’m listening.”

            Probably deeply aware of all the attention now fixed on him, Papyrus did something odd. Usually, he loved being the center of attention; at the moment, however, he seemed to squirm. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to look after the princes next Friday night. I’ll be going out then.”

            Blinking, Frisk straightened, but didn’t lose their smile—if anything, it grew. “Oh? Well, I had nothing planned, so the rest of us can just stick together that night.”

            Papyrus paused, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Cautiously, he straightened as well, squaring his shoulders, and lifting his chin imperiously. “Yes, that will do nicely. Perfect.”

            He said it with such pomp, it took all Frisk had not to start giggling at him. “Got a hot date that night?”

            They meant it as a joke, but when Papyrus only stiffened, Frisk blinked while Sans turned to gape at his brother and Asriel nearly lost the delicate battle with gravity while balancing still on one foot.

            “You got a _date?”_ Asriel shouted, far louder than he meant to. In the back of his head, Chara went absolutely still and silent.

            “Az,” Frisk said shortly while Papyrus’s face colored and he fidgeted. “Indoor voice, please.”

            “Sorry,” Asriel muttered, still gawking at Papyrus while ducking his head.

            “When did you start _dating?”_ Sans asked, finally shaking himself out of his shock.

            Papyrus bristled. “When I got asked,” he snapped back. “Why do you sound so surprised? It’s not like I’m marrying someone I met after _three_ days, which is more than I can say for _you.”_

            Sans flinched as Frisk raised their eyebrows. “I wasn’t trying—don’t need to bite my fucking head off.” He went back to his glass, looking sour as he glared, sulkily, from the corner of his eye socket. “I just assumed you just still had that thing for Mettaton.”

            Papyrus was blushing again.

            “Oh,” Frisk began, delighted, after a moment. “Is that who you’re going out with?”

            “I—well, who _else_ would be worth my time?” he half shouted, voice tight.

            Frisk tried not to roll their eyes. “Papyrus, I just scolded Asriel to use his indoor voice.”

            Papyrus winced. “Ah… yes. You did. Right.”

            Biting their lip not to smile, Frisk shook their head. “Well, anyways, congratulations. I hope you two have fun.”

            After a moment where no one else tried to either pester him or tease him, Papyrus relaxed and managed a nod. “I already have the perfect plan for what to do on that night, so without a doubt, I’m sure it will be a fantastic evening!”

            Frisk grinned and reached out to loop one of their arms into the crook of one of his. “Really? I’d love to hear about it. Come on, you can tell me as we get the dishes washed up.”

            While Papyrus let them drag him towards the sink, Asriel watched them go, wondering if it would be worth going back to the table and trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. It just sounded so interesting! But one look at the sour look on Sans’s face made him turn around and head into the living room instead.

            As he turned the television on and got comfy on the couch, he tried to call out to the soul sulking in the back of his mind. _Chara? You okay?_

_Just shut up._

Asriel sighed and pondered just bluntly asking them if maybe they were still so sure they _didn’t_ have a crush on their bodyguard. But that sounded like a good way to get them furious for the rest of the night and he didn’t want to have them constantly chewing him out as he tried to watch his shows. Giving up, he found his show and sunk as deep as he could into the cushions.

 

 

 

            Friday trudged forward like a sullen child, but when it arrived, Papyrus seemed ate up with energy. He kept himself professionally calm while taking the princes to school, but once he got home, he seemed to bounce from one thing to the next. He was getting his outfit ready one minute then racing around looking for shoe polish the next. Lucky for him, Frisk managed to get him to focus on one thing at a time before ordering him to the next before he had time to panic and distract himself. They’d just gotten him into the bathroom to shower when the front door was nearly knocked straight off its hinges.

            “Oh, not again,” Frisk grumbled before racing to open the door before it was broken completely. “Undyne, light of life, pearl of my heart,” they began, yanking it open so fast that Undyne actually froze, fist still raised. “If you break this door down, I’m going to send you the bill for its replacement.”

            Undyne blinked before sneering. “If it breaks down, it’s your fault for having a shitty door.” Before Frisk could sigh or reply, she shoved her way in and looked around. “Where’s Papyrus? I need to talk to him!”

            Frisk stumbled back to make room, glaring at Undyne’s back before turning to offer Alphys a smile from where she stood. She looked like she’d been half trying to hide in Undyne’s shadow, but that was now ruined seeing as her wife had nearly abandoned her out there. “Al,” Frisk offered, gesturing her forward. “Good to see you.”

            Alphys sheepishly nodded as she stepped in and then away so Frisk could shut the door. “She wouldn’t have really broken the door down. I’m trying to keep her from exerting herself too much.”

            “Still recovering from the birth? She looks,” Frisk shot a look at Undyne, “energetic.”

            As if aware that she was talking about—she probably was, she had great hearing—Undyne turned around. “Where is he? Has he left yet?”

            Frisk folded their arms. “If you mean Papyrus, then no. Undyne would you like me to at least take your coat?”

            “Good,” Undyne muttered, yanking off her coat distractedly before hurling it at Frisk. “That means there’s still time.”

            Frisk managed to catch the coat before turning to Alphys. “Shall I take yours too?”

            Alphys sighed and slipped off her coat. “I got it.”

            With a shrug, Frisk gestured her to the lower hanging coat hooks and put Undyne’s coat up as well before turning around again. “How’s Naiad? I’m surprised you guys aren’t with them now.” It was the first time Frisk had seen the new mothers separated from their child in the month since the birth.

            “With Asgore. They really seem to like him.”

            Frisk didn’t know if they should be surprised by the fact that they’d been okay with letting Asgore look after their child or not. Their relationship to their former Overlord was complicated and Frisk had assumed it was a little tense, at least for Alphys. Maybe Undyne was closer to her former trainer than the human thought. Still, it wasn’t a ridiculous idea, being a father himself and greatly mellowed lately.

            It was a lesson Frisk hoped Undyne would learn from her old teacher one day. “Undyne, what, may I ask, seems to be the problem?”

            Abruptly, Undyne whirled around and glared directly into Frisk’s face, leaning down a little to properly get herself at eye level with the human. “I’m going to stop this mess right now! It was just weird and silly in the beginning, but this is going too far! I’m not going to let that stupid robot do this to _my_ friend, do you hear me?”

            From his spot in the recliner, Sans looked up from his phone to give the captain an unimpressed look. “Do you really think you’re going to be able to tell Pap what to do? When does he ever give up on anything?”

            “This is different! You can’t tell me you approve of this, Sans!”

            Sans shrugged. “Pap’s a big boy, fish face. I don’t go making decisions like that for him.”

            Undyne huffed and opened her mouth to speak, but Frisk quickly stepped in and cleared their throat pointedly. Once the captain looked at them, they began to speak as fast as they could in case Undyne just decided to go back to shouting anyways. “While I’m sure Papyrus will be happy to hear you got his back, I doubt he’s going to let you talk him out of this. He’s really looking forward to tonight, and I know despite what you might think, Mettaton is too. I’m sure they’ll have a great night and that’s all there is to it. If they decide not to go on another date, they’ll figure that out later. So, why don’t we just-”

            Undyne rolled her eye, but also rolled her head along with the motion, just to put a point on how much disdain she felt. “Yeah, I don’t buy that for a second. Mettaton is a piece of shit, and if you think I’m just going to let him make some kind of joke out of this at Papyrus’s expense, think again!”

            “Fuck, Undyne, your maternal protective instincts went into overdrive or what?” Sans asked drily, not looking up from his phone again. “Chill out already, damn.”

            Seething, she wheeled about and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I can’t see how _you_ can be so calm! This is going to be a-”

            All at once, two sounds cut her off; a loud knock at the front door and the bathroom door swinging open as Papyrus stumbled out. The taller skeleton looked stunned for a moment as he gazed at them all out there. “I—Undyne? What are you doing here?”

            Before he could ask again or Undyne could answer, there was another knock at the door. Quickly, Frisk walked over and opened the door. On the other side of the door, Mettaton was lounging oh-so-casually against the frame of the door, but he beamed at the sight of Frisk at the door. “Hello, darling!”

            Frisk smiled back at him, well aware of the rather mixed atmosphere behind them. “Hello yourself, handsome. Generous of you to grace us with your presence again.”

            He playfully pinched their cheek as he straightened. “Oh, you know I can never stay away for long, but I definitely couldn’t tonight.”

            “I see. And fashionably _early_ at that.”

            “Never do the expected,” he tutted, shaking a finger at them before pressing one of his hands to his chest. “The audience will get bored and that’s never a good thing.”

            Frisk raised their own hand up to stop him. “ _Unless_ you do it to lure them into a false sense security and _then_ subvert their expectations and give them a good jolt. They’d love that.”

            Mettaton made a noise of delight before he reached out two of his hands to squish their cheeks together. “Oh, dear, you’re too good at this! Really, Frisk, what do I have to do to convince you to give up all that boring paperwork and come work with me instead? Think of all the shows we could do, the masterpieces we could make!”

            Gently pulling his hands back, Frisk pressed a kiss to both hands’ knuckles before answering. “The world would never be ready for it. Besides, _someone_ has to do the paperwork around here.”

            Sans snorted. “Says the person who waits until two in the morning to go over proposals for the next day.”

            Frisk sighed. “Shamed in my own home. Maybe Hollywood would be kinder.”

            “Think it over,” Mettaton teased before finally looking past Frisk. “And who is—oh my! It’s quite the full house tonight, isn’t it?”

            Frisk stepped back to let him in, but when they glanced around Papyrus had vanished, but everyone else was still in their previous positions. Undyne glared from where she was standing in the middle of the living room. “Undyne and Alphys just dropped in for a bit.”

            “I see. Well, good evening, captain,” Mettaton managed, voice even and civil before he turned his head. “Alphys,” he said, nodding to her. He must have been a good mood, because he sounded just as civil as when he acknowledged Undyne. “So, how’s the baby? I’d thought you’d still be cooped up with them for now.”

            Alphys rubbed her brow. “Naiad is fine and they’re being looked after just fine for the night.”

            Mettaton blinked at her. “Being looked after? Are you saying you two are actually going _out_ for the night? Will wonders never cease.”

            “And what the hell does _that_ mean?” Undyne snapped—apparently, whatever restraint she had been holding onto had given in and shattered.

            Mettaton did not look terribly impressed by the interruption. “Only that I’m surprised that you two aren’t spending time at home still. Shouldn’t you be recovering still?”

            “I’m fucking _fine_ , thanks,” Undyne snarled. “You trying to insinuate something, jackass?”

            “Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Frisk demanded, putting their hands on their hips. “I’m not getting another sound compliant two weeks in a row. Mettaton, please, come in. Sit. Drinks, anyone?”

            While Undyne and Mettaton shot withering glares at each other, Sans idly raised a hand. “I could go for a finger of whiskey.”

            “God, that sounds nice,” Alphys muttered behind them.

            “Couple drinks of whiskey it is,” Frisk said, already walking to the kitchen. “Back in a moment, guys.” Leaving the lot of them alone in the living room was probably asking for trouble, so Frisk walked as briskly as they could manage, but the moment they stepped into the kitchen, a hand reached out and yanked them aside.

            Papyrus looked down at them, face pinched (well, as much as bone could look) as he spoke in a strained whisper. “What is going on around here? Where’d Undyne and Alphys come from? And is Mettaton really here already?”

            Sighing, Frisk reached up and gently brushed his hands off their arm. “Undyne and Alphys just… dropped in for a visit. And yes, Mettaton arrived early. That’s not a problem is it?”

            Papyrus blanched for a moment, but then he paused and lifted his chin. “No! No, of course not! It just shows that—that he’s as eager as, as anyone would be to go on a date with me!” He stalled out as if realizing his own words made his brain freeze like an overtaxed computer. Finally, he coughed. “Um. Yes.”

            Taking pity on him, Frisk reached out and gripped his hands, giving them a squeeze. “ _Anyone_ would be eager for a date with you,” they reassured him, “because you two are going to have a great time. Besides, he knows you appreciate punctuality. It’s a good thing.”

            “Right!” he half shouted before taking a deep breath. “Right. Yes. Yes, it is.” He frowned before warily opening his mouth again. “It’s just, um—I do look alright, yes? Not that I’m nervous! But—I would appreciate your… experience with these things.”

            From anyone else that would have sounded like a backhanded compliment, but his nervousness proved his sincerity. To pay him back, instead of teasing him, they gave him a serious once over. He looked like a cross between a biker and a punk rocker with artistically ripped pants, a graphic band t-shirt that he picked out specifically for its skull (and lovely yellow flowers), and a leather jacket they loaned him for the night. With his usual red boots and his bandana, he looked like he was ready for a night of mischievous fun—it made Frisk a little nostalgic. When was the last time they’d gone out and raised some real hell? Not just gone out and gotten a wee bit drunk with Sans, but stayed out too late, partied too hard, took someone pretty to bed, and then snuck out before breakfast?

            _Oh god, I’m growing old. Mom was right, one day I was going to turn into a grown up and I didn’t even know it. Oh, how the mighty have fallen._ Still grinning a little at their own silly thoughts, they nodded to him. “Fantastic, love. You’ll break hearts.”

            “I’m not looking to _break_ hearts,” he mumbled, but he seemed pleased anyways as he straightened and tugged on his clothes.

            “Ready?” they asked as he took another deep breath.

            He managed a nod. “Ready. Let’s go.”

            Patting him on the back, they followed him back out into the living room. They walked in to find Undyne growling at Mettaton, although what she exactly said was lost when Mettaton turned on his heel to brightly greet Papyrus. “Papyrus, dear, there you are! My, don’t you look especially dashing tonight. Don’t you think so, Frisk?”

            Frisk smirked as Papyrus, flustered and flattered, turned an interesting shade of red. “Handsome as always. You two make quite a pair.”

            Undyne seethed. “Gag me.”

            “If only we could,” Sans muttered back, although he was careful to make his voice soft enough that Undyne didn’t hear. When Frisk shot him a look, he merely glanced up from his phone. “What happened to my whiskey?”

            _Whoops_. “Slight distraction,” they admitted, sheepishly scratching their jaw. “One moment.”

            Before they could turn to leave, Undyne started to speak again. “Stop ignoring me, you stupid pile of junk. I said that-”

            She didn’t get another word out; one of Mettaton’s hands flew out, stretching across the room to slap itself across her mouth. With two of his other arms, he grabbed Papyrus and yanked him close, while his last hand began to wave at the rest of them. “Speaking of being early, I really think we should heading out now. That alright with you, dear?” he asked Papyrus while Undyne squirmed and thrashed to free her mouth. Alphys winced and tried to calm her wife down, not that it worked.

            Still red, Papyrus laughed nervously. “Ah, yes, right! That sounds perfect! Um—Frisk, Sans, I’m counting on you to look after the princes.”

            “We’ll take care of them,” Frisk promised, waving back. “Have a nice night, you two.”

            “Bye, darlings!” Mettaton shouted and with that, Papyrus tucked against his side, he vanished out the door, his hand gripping Undyne’s mouth extending for as far as it could before he reeled it back in, making sure to shut the door on the way out.

            Undyne took a deep gasp of fresh, expression outraged, and scrambled to the front door. Swinging it, so hard it bounced off the wall, something crunching behind it. “You mother fucking—son of a bitch! They’re gone already!”

            “Pap must have used a shortcut,” Sans mused. “So, hey, about my whiskey…?”

            “Does that stupid robot honestly think I’m just going to let this stupidity stand?” Undyne roared, still glaring at the sky.

            Alphys sighed and glanced at Frisk. “Never let your one of your friends date your spouse’s best friend.”

            “Ha,” Frisk grinned. “That can’t happen to _me_ —I’m already married to my best friend.”

            Behind them, Sans sounded like choked on something. Alphys just shook her head. She walked over to try to tug Undyne back into the house. “Undyne, come back inside. R-remember, you gotta take it easy or else-”

            Undyne only huffed. “If he honestly thinks that, that idiot has another thing coming! Come on, Al,” she shouted, reaching back and scooping her wife up, making Alphys squeak in surprise. “We got to stop this train wreck, right now!” Tossing her wife over her shoulder, Undyne started to bolt down the street, Alphys stuttering and yelping as they vanished in the distance.

            Frisk appreciated their speed, shaking their head. “Wow, they’re making good time, considering neither of them remembered to grab their coats. I hope Undyne doesn’t overdo it.” They glanced to the door. “Speaking of overdoing it,” they grumbled and shut the door to look at the damage. There was a crack in the wall, but the real victim who’d borne the brunt of Undyne’s abuse was the door knob. “Ugh, she nearly crumpled this poor thing. I think we’re going to need a new knob.”

            “Awesome,” Chara sneered from their spot on the couch, where they’d been silently watching the mayhem unfold the entire time. “That woman is a menace.”

            Sans snorted. “That’s something you two have in common.”

            Chara scowled at him before glancing back to Frisk, their red eyes vanishing so Asriel’s brown could replace them as he took control for a moment. “Do you really think she’s going to go ruin their date?”

            Frisk sighed. “Well, I’d hope not, but Undyne is nothing if not determined. She sounded like she knew where they were going, so she just might try something, I suppose.”

            He grimaced. “But that’s not fair. Shouldn’t we, you know, _do_ something to make sure nothing bad happens?”

            Frisk considered the question before glancing to Sans. “What do you think?”

            “Oh, old shark bait is definitely going to go cause trouble,” he answered. “But that’s not my problem. My problem is the continued absence of my whiskey.”

            Rolling their eyes, Frisk glanced back to their ward. Asriel was now looking twice as anxious; he was such a sweet boy to worry for Papyrus. They found themselves smiling before they finally gave in to a sigh. “We should probably follow them.”

            Asriel perked up, but Sans just shut his eyes. “Hard pass. The only thing I’m doing is taking a long nap.”

            Asriel let out a long, drawn out sigh. “That’s _literally_ what you do _every_ Friday. Don’t you care that they’re going to ruin Papyrus’s night?”

            “Pap’s a big boy. He’ll get over it. Besides, maybe Undyne will finally learn to chill the fuck out a little if it’s Papyrus screaming at her.”

            While Asriel scowled, Frisk walked over to Sans’s chair and braced one arm against the back of the chair. As they leaned into the side of the chair, they smiled as he finally looked up at them. “I’ll buy a drink if you come with us. Besides, when do you ever turn down a chance to see something as funny as what this could turn out to be?”

            He considered it for a moment before he tapped a button on the side of the recliner, making it slowly close up before he stood. “I’m expecting some good shit out of this. No half assed beer that tastes like piss, got it?”

            “Got it,” they chirped straightening up. “Come on, boys. Undyne moves fast, so we can’t dawdle.”

 

 

 

            The first place Papyrus and Mettaton went to on their date was one of the nicer cinemas in town—nicer as in the seats were broken in and they had a full bar with more than terrible beer on tap. Not that it seemed to please Sans who immediately grimaced over the menu choices. “I’m expecting _better_ drinks than this.”

            “Yes, yes, I know,” Frisk chuckled, giving Asriel a candy bar—the cinema didn’t have much for monster food, but it did sell _one_ brand of monster chocolate, which made Chara happy at least.

            They were happily munching away on their bar as they looked at their ticket. “They are going to one of Mettaton’s shows.” Chara paused and looked up to give the marquee with the movie’s title above it a flat look. “His narcissism knows no bounds.”

            Sans snorted. “It gives him something to bond over with Papyrus, no doubt.”

            “Sounds like someone needs a nap,” Frisk replied airily. “No snoring during the movie.”

            “I’m not a fucking animal,” Sans scoffed. “But you can bet your ass I’m conking out as soon as those house lights dim.”

            “Animal,” Chara taunted, taking another bite out of the chocolate bar.

            Sans never got a chance to retort something back—a concerning amount of shouting and the sounds of an automatic door desperately protesting as it was tossed open distracted everyone into turning to see the cause of the noise. As suspected, it was Undyne, still carrying Alphys in her arms—despite the fact that the scientist had been the one worrying for her wife, it was the good doctor who looked like she’d been through hell. Undyne looked happily refreshed as she staked into the lobby and looked around.

            Frisk could spot several uneasy employees who were eyeing Undyne nervously. Rather than wait for one of them to work up the courage to scold her and provoke her into making a scene, Frisk quickly hurried across the lobby. “Undyne! Undyne, dear, please be more careful with the doors. If you break them, you buy them.”

            Undyne blinked at them for a moment before sneering. “Aha! If you’re here, this _must_ be the right place.”

            Frisk forced themselves to smile. “Got it in one. Now, why don’t you sit poor Al down. She looks a little green around the gills.”

            “She doesn’t have gills,” Undyne drawled, but did sit her wife down. “You okay, Al?”

            Alphys wavered like she was about to swoon backward, but she shook herself out of her stupor. “I-I’m fine!” She looked around her, blinking. “Oh, did we make it?”

            “You sure did,” Frisk answered, gently patting her shoulder. “By the way, we brought your coats. You guys left them at the house when you ran off.”

            Alphys grimaced. “I n-noticed.”

            Seeing her wife was fine, Undyne glared up at Frisk. “Where are they?”

            Frisk shrugged cheerfully. “Already inside the theater, I would presume. Are you going to buy a ticket? You can’t go in without one.”

            For a moment, Frisk thought that Undyne would refuse on sheer principle. To their surprise, after Undyne finally stopped grimacing at them to stomp her way over to the ticket booth. After a moment, however, she turned around to shout at Frisk again. “Hey, shithead! What movie are they seeing?”

            Rather than shout across the lobby, Frisk gently pointed Alphys in the direction of Sans and the kids before hurrying over to Undyne. By the time they were done helping Undyne buy tickets, they found Asriel warily sidling over towards Sans in an effort to keep the skeleton between him and Alphys. It wasn’t that he trusted the skeleton that much, but at least he was fairly sure Sans would help him against Alphys or Undyne if only because Frisk would be furious if he didn’t. As soon as he saw Frisk walking back towards them, he brightened and hurried over to their side.

            Looping an arm around his shoulders as he got close—he was getting taller now, so it wasn’t so far to reach down anymore—Frisk smiled at the others. “Shall we head inside now? The movie’s probably about ready to get started.”

            “Whatever,” Undyne huffed and they all started marching to the screening room. “Just what the hell is the movie about, anyway?”

            “It’s some horror movie where he has to fight off a terrorist group when they take over this building,” Frisk tried to answer before frowning. “Or was that the other movie he was making and _this_ is the art house one where he literally courts death?”

            Asriel cocked his head to the side. “I thought this was the documentary about snails that he narrated?”

            Sans snorted. “Guess we’ll find out when we get inside.”

            “It’s not going to matter _what_ this stupid movie is,” Undyne sneered. “As soon as I find them, I’m going to yank them right out of that room and put an end to this.”

            Frisk eyed her cautiously, but once they got inside theater, they found that the house lights were already down and it was hard to figure out who was who in the dark. Rather than let her make a scene, Alphys managed to shoo her wife up the aisle and take a seat with the promise that she could yell at them _after_ the movie, which she only agreed to after she saw a preview for a movie she’s been interested in.

            The movie, it turned out, was Frisk’s second guess. It was a surprisingly well shot movie, although things got a little weird when it turned out Death was a cloaked skeleton who was indeed Mettaton’s love interest for the film. Despite that reoccurring awkward moment for the group, which always got Undyne angry all over again, it wasn’t all bad. Undyne might have been torn between anger and boredom, but Frisk was amused. Alphys, on the other side of Undyne, kept watching the movie with a quiet refrain of “really? Really, Mettaton?” Asriel seemed just as bemused. Sans, however, took the time to nap and spent most of the movie that way.

            By the time the movie finally ended, they were all pretty distracted trying to figure out _what_ the movie had been trying to tell them as its final moral when the house lights finally came up. Frisk could just hear Undyne grumbling about “stupid robots” and the “stupid, weird movies” they make when, from four rows ahead of them, Papyrus started clapping. Not just polite clapping either; he stood, clapping his hands together furiously. If Frisk hadn’t known better, they would have assumed he was trying to recreate the famous clapping scene from Citizen Kane. But no, he must have meant the praise sincerely. Next to him, Mettaton beamed, soaking up the attention, even as the rest of the audience seemed to be hurrying out of the theater, talking to each other in hushed confusion.

            Undyne shook her head, staring down at Papyrus. “Just what does he see in that garbage?” Frisk wasn’t sure if she was talking about the movie or the robot.

            Papyrus had just settled down his clapping when Mettaton suddenly turned and faced them dead on. “So, dears,” he shouted with a grin, “what did you think of my movie?”

            Alphys yelped and somehow managed to yank Undyne down into their chairs, slumping out of sight. Asriel also gasped and ducked. Only Frisk and Sans stayed up and in sight. Sans because he’d fallen asleep and hadn’t woken up yet.

            Frisk, on the other hand, beamed down at him and saluted them. “I liked it! Very mysterious. And romantic. Ten out of ten.”

            “That’s what I said!” Papyrus shouted before frowning up at them. No doubt wondering why they had changed their minds about the three of them spending the night in.

            Mettaton beamed. “Oh, darling, I knew I could trust you to get it! However, while I’d love to sit here and chat with you about, we have to dash so we can make our dinner reservations. But, if you lot are planning to keep tailing us all night, we’ll be heading to the Chop Shop at ten. There’s a live band playing there tonight that’s supposed to be a real treat to see since they don’t usually do small venues.”

            “Sounds fun. But, uh,” they jerked their head in the direction of the sleeping Sans and Asriel who’d barely begun to poke his head up from the chair he was ducking behind. “I think it might be bedtime soon.”

            Asriel huffed with all of his nine year old self importance, but on the other side of Frisk, Undyne finally shook her wife’s grip off her and jumped up like a jack-in-the-box.

            “Wait just one fucking minute!” Undyne roared, startling the two other people in the theater besides them who’d been chatting absently in the back and watch the credits roll. “I had to sit through that shit and you can fucking bet that I’m not just about to let you-”

            “Good to see you too, captain!” Mettaton shouted abruptly before tossing his arms around a surprised but delighted Papyrus. “But now we’re really quite late to our reservations, so toodles! Papyrus, would you mind?”

            “Oh, of course not,” Papyrus mumbled and then they were gone.

            Undyne screamed her outrage, causing Sans to finally jerk awake.

            “Mm, is it the movie or an earthquake?” he muttered, head bobbing as he squinted around.

            “It’s Undyne,” Frisk answered bluntly, while Alphys tried to quiet her wife back down to reasonable grumbling levels. “Papyrus and Mettaton know how to beat a very quick getaway.”

            “Figured,” Sans yawned, hunkering back down into his chair. “So, we giving up and going home now or what?”

            “It is getting late,” Frisk admitted, checking the time on their phone.

            _“I’m_ not tired,” Asriel announced, still looking salty about the bedtime bit.        

            “I’m going to kill him,” Undyne said flatly, like a promise. “I’m going to catch him and break his stupid face into pieces.”

            “Hey, come on now,” Sans began, picking idly at his teeth with a fingertip. “Al put a lot of work into that face.”

            While Undyne turned to scowl at him, Frisk loudly cleared their throat. “Well, I don’t know where those two are going to eat, but if we want to keep following them, I say we get something of our own to munch on.” When they saw Undyne’s mutinous look, they leaned over and nudged her in the side with their elbow. “I know a place that serves a mean bowl of shark fin soup.”

            Undyne fell silent for a moment, gaping down at them before her lips finally spread into a grin. “That’s fucked up, human. But also strangely appetizing. Fine, I’ll eat your soup—but you’re paying for it.”

            Frisk weighed the potential dining bill against the chance of maintaining the peace for a little longer. “You’re on.”

            While Undyne turned to help Alphys get up and work out her stiffness from the long movie, Asriel leaned over to Frisk and poked them. “It’s not made out of _real_ shark, is it?” he asked, voice small.

            They pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Imitation only, I swear.”

            He relaxed and smiled at them.

            Sans groaned as he stretched, but was still glaring as he let his arms drop back down. “This just sounds like a waste of my time.”

            Rather than let him grumble, Frisk reached past Asriel to smack his shoulder. “Come on, grumpy, and I’ll buy you that whiskey you’ve been craving.”

            That settled it, at least for a little while.

 

 

 

            After their late dinner, Undyne forced Frisk to lead the way to the ever mysterious “Chop Shop”. From the name, the captain had been expecting some kind of weird auto mechanic themed venue that catered to kitsch bands. She’d been half afraid of some open air stage where they’d have to stand in the chilly December air.

            Instead the Chop Shop was a decently large bar, bigger than Grillby’s had ever been. There were no car mechanic themed decorations, just comfy seats, a big bar, and a very wide open dance floor. The walls were so plastered with posters from bands that had played there once, going back decades, that you could hardly see what color the wall was.

            Best of all, this was no country music playing like some honky-tonk bar—the massive speakers, taller even than her, were blaring a mix between some old, cheesy rock ballads and some screaming metal bangers. So, what if Sans immediately snuck off to go find some quiet corner to nap in, while Asriel reluctantly followed, hands pressed against his long ears in a desperate attempt to save his hearing. Even her wife kept grimacing about the music—Al always had preferred something a little more _poppy_ than this.

            At least Frisk was will to bang their head along to the music with her. But that wasn’t the important thing! As soon as they got there, Undyne got to work looking around the quickly swelling crowds. Up on stage, the band was getting set up still and a crowd was already forming below them, cluttering the floor. With the wild hairdos and flashy clothes, it might have been hard to spot Papyrus and Mettaton—well, _might_ have been, if only Mettaton wasn’t over seven foot tall and wearing shoes that put him close to eight.

            Leaning up against the stage, Mettaton and Papyrus were talking about something—even as loud as the two of them were, Undyne couldn’t hear a word of what they were saying. They cut an interesting picture; one moment, Papyrus had straightened up to say something proudly, the next he became smaller, stance loose and relaxed. More surprisingly, Mettaton looked like he was actually _listening._ He’d watch Papyrus say something and then either nod or grin before replying.

            Goddamnit. They looked like they were actually enjoying each other’s company.

            “Got to nip this in the bud,” she grumbled, voice lost to the thumping bass.

            “What?” Frisk asked, staring up at her. “Do you see them?”

            Not bothering to answer—they’d follow her around if they thought she’s actually spotted them—she started to walk forward. The crowd, growing fast already, was harder to push through than she thought. Usually a good shove would knock monster and human alike to the side, but this crowd only seemed to get more revved up over it. When another metal song came over the speakers, some of them started pushing each other around for no reason at all.

            Humans. What a bunch of hilarious weirdos.

            She’d only made it halfway across the humanity choked dance floor when she spotted the asshole approaching the robot and skeleton. He staggered out of the crowd, although his drink remained surprisingly level considering how much weaving he was doing—he was absolutely smashed, which must have meant that buddy-boy had come out tonight after a bit of pre-gaming. There was no way he could be _that_ drunk this early in the night—that or he was the world’s cheapest drunk.

            Somehow, despite the fact that Undyne couldn’t even hear Papyrus _or_ Mettaton, she managed to hear the man, when he wasn’t slurring. “Hey! Hey, you—you fucking… You trying to look like that robot guy from the television, huh? You think you’re all _WOO-ooo_ , huh?”

            What the hell did that even _mean?_ Even she was baffled while Papyrus and Mettaton traded bemused looks.

            She could see Mettaton try to put on his ‘I’m a professional and totally not a douche bag scum faced jerk _god_ she hated him’ smile on his face as he turned and tried to talk to the man, probably trying to calm him down.

            This didn’t seem to work at all; in fact, it seemed to only incense the man how began rant and scream a bunch of things that insulted not just monster kind but several human minorities. The crowd around him looked either nervous or disgusted as they moved away, but he didn’t seem to notice. When Mettaton tried to talk again, the man lost what little control he had and actually cocked back his fist and lunged forward.

            Despite her distaste for Mettaton, Undyne was still Captain of the Royal Guard and it was her damn _job_ to protect monsters now, no matter how annoying. But before she had a chance to start shoving her way through the crowd, blue magic haloed the man. Papyrus must have had enough of his antics because he stepped forward, one hand glowing blue as he gestured the man to lift in the air. The skeleton said something to the man and then flicked his hand out from him. The human went flying through the air, landing well away from the crowd on the floor and into a plush chair, which he promptly back flipped out of due to his inertia.

            Well, trust Papyrus to have it covered.

            The crowd on the floor erupted in cheers, and even from a ways away, Undyne could see the surprised delight on the skeleton’s unguarded face. Then Mettaton leaned in and said something that made Papyrus’s skull turn red. For a moment, the two stood there, looking equally pleased just to be near each other.

            _Goddamnit,_ Undyne thought with no small amount of annoyance. _Those two idiots really **do** look like they like each other. _ Which meant Papyrus probably wouldn’t just be pissed if she ruined his date on purpose; he would probably keep going back to Mettaton no matter what she said about him.

            As much as she hated to admit it, maybe she was just going to have to let this go. Whatever would happen between the two would happen, and she was just going to have to resolve herself to kicking Papyrus’s ass out of any sorrow he might end up in when the relationship inevitably crashed and burned. Well, maybe not crashed and burned—maybe Mettaton might actually like Papyrus enough to let him down a little easier than that.

            At any rate, she wasn’t needed here, which meant she could go the fuck home. Which, in all honestly, sounded really fucking nice about-

            She never got to finish her thought; without warning, Frisk reached over and grabbed her arm. When she turned to scowl at the human, Frisk just pointed behind them. “You better go save your wife,” they said bluntly.

            Following the direction of Frisk’s pointing finger, she spotted Alphys quickly, even if she was half hidden in the press of humanity behind them. Sometime during her search, an impromptu mosh pit had formed behind them—though she didn’t know it, she herself had accidentally triggered it when she shoved people out of her way, kick starting a chain of enthused violence. The pit wasn’t very big yet, and Undyne doubted that the venue would allow it to get much bigger—humans seemed to frown on barroom brawls, which was a shame because they were _awesome._ However, while she could easily dismiss the bit of rough housing going on, what she couldn’t miss was Alphys, who was stuck in the middle of the crowd, ducking and dodging at a speed that would have impressed Undyne if it wasn’t her wife in there.

            “Hey! You fuckfaces, you let her out of there!” Undyne roared and plunged into the crowd, working her way as fast as she could to her wife’s side. Her entrance confused the dancers for a moment and when she looked out and over the crowd, she could see security guards heading over already to break up the pit.

            All the same, as she made her way through the crowd, gritting her teeth as she slugged a human in the face, she made up her mind.

            Never mind if Papyrus _actually_ liked Mettaton or not; as soon as she got out of here, she was going to smash that dumb robot’s face into pieces.

 

 

 

 

            Lucky for the two people actually on the date, Frisk and Alphys managed to distract Undyne from actually going over and snapping Mettaton like a twig. They had to ply her with some overpriced beer, but eventually she mellowed out enough to leave them alone for a little while longer. Once the concert was over, they lost Papyrus and Mettaton in the crowd while Frisk got the two of ladies to help them search for Sans and Asriel. Asriel was half deaf and very tired by the time they found him and Sans somehow managed to fall asleep and was more amused than anything when he heard their story.

            With the venue closing down for the night, Asriel was glad to follow Frisk and the others outside. Even if his ears were still ringing, at least they’d be heading home. He got a few odd looks from the venue staff—he was sure a few of them thought he was too young to be in there, but none of them looked confident enough in their knowledge of monsters to go accusing him of sneaking in—but no one stopped them to ask.

            _Well. This was a giant waste of time,_ Chara grumbled loudly. _First, we go see that silly movie. Then we nearly get our eardrums blown out at that concert. Now we have to listen to Undyne complain the entire way home._

It was true—Undyne was complaining, _bitterly_ , about how cold it was as they walked back home while Alphys huddled against her side, desperately seeking warmth. Despite their discomfort, only Frisk was close to feeling as chilled as them, and they had pulled Asriel to their side to act like portable heater, not that he minded. For Sans, Asriel, Papyrus, and Mettaton, none of them was bothered one bit by the chill.

            They icy sidewalks, however, weren’t so kind.

            It was an odd whim of fate that it was Papyrus, of all people, who stepped on the patch of black ice. He and Mettaton had been walking ahead of the others, so no one had called out a warning. When his boot hit the ice, it slid right out from under him. Before he crashed backwards, though, one of Mettaton’s arms snaked down and around him to catch him. With a quick tug, Papyrus was back on his feet and pressed up against Mettaton’s side. The two looked at each other, eyes to eye sockets.

            In the back of his head, Chara sulked and hunkered down so that Asriel could barely hear any of the grumblings they made. Next to him, Frisk giggled a little.

            Undyne, on the other hand, gagged loudly. “ _Oh_ , don’t you even fucking dare!” she shouted, startling the couple. “I did not spend this whole fucking night trying to catch up to you assholes just to watch you two suck face!”

            “Why _did_ you come then?” Mettaton scoffed, not letting go even as Papyrus’s skull turned bright red.

            Undyne might have shouted something at him, but before she could open her mouth, Alphys let out a long string of sneezes. By the time she was done, she shuddering and bent half over. “I’m s-so _cold.”_

            Whatever she was going to say, the anger died instantly in Undyne’s face. Instead, she crouched next to her wife, picked her up, and rubbed her arms. “Okay. Let’s go home and get you warmed up.”

            “Oh thank god,” Alphys muttered before sneezing again. She started to wave goodbye to the others, but after Undyne gave the lot of them a salute, she tore off down the sidewalk, letting Alphys wail her dismay as they disappeared into the night.

            Frisk let their own hand hang in the air as they waved before dropping it back to their side. “Well, with that crisis averted, what say we go home and leave the happy couple to finish their date in peace?”

            Asriel sighed in relief. “My ears still hurt.”

            “I got some candy at home for you, if you want,” Frisk offered before turning to Sans. “Sans, this okay with you?”

            “I don’t want to see my brother sucking face with the robot either. Let’s go.”

            Papyrus scoffed as his brother grabbed Frisk with one hand and got a fist full of Asriel’s coat with the other, the three of them vanishing from sight as Mettaton waved at them. “That little hypocrite. As if I haven’t been subjected to seeing _him_ sucking face with Frisk before.”

            Chuckling, Mettaton sympathetically patted his shoulder before leaning again. “Well, now that our little group of chaperones are gone, why don’t we _really_ go paint the town red, my dear?”

            Papyrus barely had a chance to nod before being happily dragged away into the night, heading off to whatever mischief they could get into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long overdue request from alextisgr8, who wanted to see some Papyrus/Mettaton. Admittedly, this didn't really focus on them, but for some reason this is what came to mind. Perhaps I should do some more with the two of them later.


	46. To Cleave

            A mess. When Toriel left the castle all those years ago, she knew that she was leaving the wretched den of memories and its inhabitants to their own devices. And knowing monsters in general, a mess was the _least_ that would probably happen. But no, she’d left The Fool in charge, so really, she should have known.

            _This_ was worse than a mess—this was a self-contained disaster that teetered on the brink, a sloppy house of cards shifting in the breeze. Dissidents imprisoned, public forums shuttered in favor of tossing down decrees from on high; the masses whipped into a murderous frenzy, killing each other with wild abandon. Infrastructures of all sorts had fallen into disrepair or had been damaged on purpose by certain monsters hoping to create death traps. The only blessing was that at least The Idiot had enacted a law banning monsters from attacking children, maintaining a slim sliver of decency, not that it meant much when most children’s parents were dead and they imitated the adults around them. That and somehow The Fool hadn’t managed to starve the public, but then magical food had always been faster and less material consuming than human agriculture. Small favors.

            So, a mess, a disaster, and now a headache because it appeared that not only had Asgore been ignoring his own officials, he’d been tossing their reports into whatever spare space he could find, not caring one wit if something needed an immediate response or not. And in the castle, the most obvious spare space he’d found had apparently been her old bedroom. So, now it was not only dusty from disuse, it was filled nearly to the brim with stacks of papers. When she opened the door in hopes that maybe she could find a spare blanket or pillow, several stacks collapsed and spilled out into the hall. She resisted the urge to curse loudly, settling on glaring at Asgore’s door before she reached down and started sorting out the room. It took three days to go through it all, and that was _after_ she commandeered a pair of guards to help her.

            “How did the kingdom not collapse in on itself?” she muttered, flipping through yet another report. After she finished her room, she’d moved on to the stacks in the library; from the state of this room, she figured it’d take her a month to read them all. “Surely he at least knows this is a _fire hazard_ if nothing…”

            Leave it to The Incompetent not to know something as basic as fire safety—and he was a master of fire magic no less.

            Her peevish thoughts halted as a servant scuttled in; she looked up to see a lion headed monster hurry in, arms loaded with a giant stack of papers. Quickly, the servant dropped the stack onto the table she’d been sitting at, shoving it closer to her before bowing and shoving his thick mane back from his face. “More papers brought up from the cellars, my lady.”

            She wished she could glare at the stack, but then she might confuse the other monster, making him nervous. She was tempted to do it anyway—it was still so easy to imagine that any monster could have been one that attacked one of her children.

            _No, stop that. Remember what Asriel already said—I’m no better than these fools._ Dust was on her hands too.

            She forced herself to nod. “That will do.”

            The servant bowed and scrambled out of the room, eager to escape her grim mood.

            She paused—she‘d meant the thought sarcastically, but now that she thought about it, the atmosphere in the room really _was_ dour. And she was getting a headache—surely, she could take a break from five year old road reports and get some fresh air. With a sigh, she pushed her chair back and stood. She thought about walking to a window and opening it, but she decided that what she really needed was a change of surroundings. Leaving the room, she paused and considered her options before walking down a hall. Half way down the passage, she ducked into an alcove and unlocked a hidden door. It was a servant’s stair and judging from the level of dust coating the stairs, no one had used it in a long time. She went down it and unlocked another door at the bottom of the stair.

            The door tried to protest, but a quick shove popped it open. Stepping out, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air—the Ruins weren’t so bad, if you got used to them, but it was always stuffy there. Opening her eyes again, she wryly noted the garden around her. Or at least it’d once been a garden. She could remember many a time she’d come out here to find Asgore puttering among plants in their plots, humming to himself as he pulled weeds until he noticed she was there and then smiling sheepishly once he knew she’d caught him skipping work. But that was years ago; after that Law came into being, he must have abandoned this garden for the safer surroundings of his greenhouse. Now, with winter coming, the plants were thinning out, growing browner as fall faded into winter; and yet, looking at them, she could see that they weren’t entirely abandoned. Someone had been weeding the bushes, letting them grow wild, but unencumbered by weeds or vines.

            It appeared she’d found one of the ways That Idiot had taken to still avoid work. She huffed to herself and started to turn to go back inside, annoyed by her discovery, but then she paused. Looking down the path, she saw something new and out of place. Walking down the path, she found herself looking up at a statue of three figures. One, the tallest, was obviously herself. In her arms, Asriel gazed down at the last figure, Chara, who knelt near the ground, reaching as if for the bush nearest them. Cut of gray stone, the elements had obviously worn down the hard edges of the statue, softening their expressions to vacant serenity. Whoever had made this, they must have done it shortly after her children’s deaths and her leaving the castle—unlike a few other statues she’d seen, their forms had been faithfully reproduced in the stone. The artist even had thought to include Chara’s interest in plants, which meant that whoever it was, it’d probably been someone she’d known.

            So, now the burning question—why was it there? Abandoned in some out of the way hiding spot but obviously too well made to be forgotten—The Fool must have paid a good bit of money for the statue. Maybe that also explained the plants—maybe, despite being a decent place to set up an ambush, someone had been out here recently to weed the bushes around it.

            Almost by accident, she discovered a plaque. She’d reached out to push aside some leaves and found it. She paused and then shrugged before reading.

            _For their majesties, Queen Toriel, Prince Asriel, and Prince Chara._

_May their glory and memory lead us through trying times._

            She froze, rereading the words. A memorial. He’d had a memorial built to the three of them. Maybe so he could come out here and gaze at his dead family and remember fonder times.

            She sighed. “Oh, Asgore. You really _are_ a fool.”

            Only he would think to put a memorial in a place that he obviously came to get his mind off things. Of course, he would torture himself even when he wanted to escape.

            A fool. A masochistic fool.

            Shaking her head, she turned and walked back the way she came, deciding she’d had enough fresh air and memories of this place. Still, as she paused at the door, she glanced to the memorial and wondered.

 

 

 

            The year passed fast, and on the anniversary of the Barrier breaking, they celebrated. It was odd, returning to the mountain, to hear sounds of laughter and singing among the crowds that gathered there. Such happy noises had been long absent from the Ruins of Home, and yet, she nearly teared up at seeing Chara walking besides Frisk, joining her in leading the line of monsters in the march to New Home. She never would have expected monsters to want to make a pilgrimage through the Underground—honestly, she would have expected them to raze the mountain down to rubble first—but here they were, recreating the path that Asriel and Chara took with Frisk. Neither she nor the children wanted to pause and linger in places with old memories, like some in the procession, so they made it to the capital in good time.

            Asgore was there waiting for them. Toriel forced herself to nod politely in greeting as he greeted them all. Then there was a little to-do with speeches and the robot narrated everything with great pomp. In short order they headed out of the Underground and walked out onto the path that lead down the mountain. Toriel and the others bade farewell and accepted well wishes from those monsters who felt particularly generous.

            It was a relief when they all finally agreed that they had done their duty enough that any stragglers could just see themselves home—after all, the celebrations they had to deal with for the day were far from done. But for right then, they all headed back into the castle one last time, eager to take a chance to relax and recuperate. Even her stubbornly proud Chara was clutching their guard’s hand as they nearly sagged in relief and exhaustion against his side as they walked in.

            Several people claimed they were hungry—her children’s guard, Papyrus, and the Captain of the Guard herself announced that they were going to whip up something with Asgore’s kitchen. Frisk and the Captain’s wife winced and hurried after the pair—probably to do damage control, if she remembered their cooking skills right. Chara followed, looking eager to see chaos. Sans found a chair to relax in; she could go pester him and chuckle over some dark jokes he usually told her, but instead she turned away. There were some things she left there a few weeks back, when they’d first come back to set up for today’s celebrations, and she needed them back now.

            She took a shortcut, through a servant’s passage that was so thick with dust she had to cover her snout with her sleeve after a sneezing fit left her eyes watering. It was a relief to duck out into the garden. She took a moment to mop up the tears leaking from her stinging eyes. Once she could finally see, she looked out to see what had become of Asgore’s old garden; the more delicate plants were dead already, choked by weeds, but the hardier ones had held on and started to spread out, conquering more space. It was messy in a way that revealed how much the garden had needed Asgore’s presence to keep from—literally—going to seed.

            Well, she could always admit to that much—her ex-husband really _was_ a good gardener. It was, probably, what he’d been best at and seemed to bring him the most joy. Aside from being a father. And maybe there was a connection—something perhaps about having the nature of a nurturer.

            Too bad that nurturing nature hadn’t stretched far enough to save six human children lives.

            A fresh wave of revulsion hit her, as if someone had doused her with a bucket. Gritting her teeth, she stalked through the garden, focused on getting across it to the hidden door there.

            And yet, even through the haze of rage, she paused and noted an oddity. She’d seen the statue of her and her children the year before and then again a handful of times after that, but in the months since they’d returned to the surface, there was hardly a mark of change on the statue. No conquering vines trying to climb up it, no leaves caught in crevices, hardly even a smudge of dust.

            After a glance, she dismissed it out of hand. So, someone had probably cleaned it up earlier. Maybe it’d even been Asgore. What did that matter?

            It didn’t.

            She was perfectly satisfied to snap the door shut behind her and banish it from her thoughts.

 

 

 

 

            It was a god forsakenly hot afternoon, a few months before the second anniversary of the Barrier falling, when she got a text from Sans. She’d been expecting a call back from Frisk after they’d abruptly got off the phone with her, but instead she got a text the next morning that was straight to the point.

            **_Hey. I need to drop by your house. I want to have a panic attack in relative silence and some place where I can’t immediately self medicate with alcohol. Thanks._**

She raised an eyebrow, but rather than send him a proper, long text back—she had finally gotten a new phone, made especially big for her hands, but it was still awkward and frustrating—she just sent him a simple one in return. **_Fine,_** it read, **_I’ll hide the wine._**

After scarcely a minute, there was a knock at her front door. Sans nearly spilled into the house as soon as she opened it. “Oh, thank fuck you have air conditioning. Our house is a goddamn sauna right now.”

            “If only you weren’t a skeleton, I’d just advise you to pull your skin off and cool off that way,” she called to him, earning a halfhearted snort. She shut the door and followed after him, finding him face down in the middle of her rug in the living room. “Enjoying the taste of that are you?”

            His muffled voice filtered up to her. “Gourmet shit you got here.”

            She considered an off color joke about him, Frisk, and carpet munching. Instead, she shook her head. “I’m glad you approve of my tastes in furnishings.”

            He chuckled.

            Smirking, she took a seat on the couch and stared down at him. “Now, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here, or am I going to have to make more jokes at your expense before you come clean?”

            There was a short pause before Sans rolled over, almost colliding with the coffee table, not that he noticed. With only a tiny nudge of her foot a few times, he finally spoke, the words rushing out so fast she could hardly keep up with them at times. The gist of what she got was that he and brother had finally had a real conversation, airing out some of the miscommunication between them. She had to resist the urge to toss her arms up into the air and shout hallelujah, although she thought might be a _little_ too insulting.

            “It is about time,” she said instead, but made sure he saw her genuine smile.

            He managed a weak chuckle but the way his hand shook as he pressed the heel of his palm against his left eye socket showed how distressed he was. “What the fuck have I been doing with my life, Tori? For years, all I could think about was how I fucked up his life and never once realized that I was doing even more damage because _I’m such a fucking idiot.”_

            Toriel considered him for a moment. “Well, I suppose there’s only one thing I have to say to this.” When he saw his wince, she smirked. “I told you so.”

            That got a real, if anxious laugh out of him. “Oh, you are so much meaner than Frisk was about this.”

            “Going out on a limb, but in my experience, if you wanted someone nice to talk to about this, you would have gone to Frisk and not me.”

            An earnestly rueful laugh. “Ah, fuck. Yeah. You got a point,” he chuckled as he scrubbed uselessly at his face. “They were just, you know, a… _little_ too nice about it.”

            She put her jaw in her hands as she looked down at him. “And you expected me to be meaner than them about it?”

            “More realistic,” he protested, but he only waved halfheartedly at her.

            She made a polite noise as she closed her eyes and thought. “You know, I don’t know if you’re insulting me more to think me so cruel as to kick you while you’re down or you’re insulting _them_ more for not giving them credit to know when you’re an idiot or not.” She sat up and continued speaking before he could do more than make a pathetic noise of protest. “Instead I’ll say this. You got a fresh start with your brother. Do not waste it. Why, if I was in your shoes-” She paused, suddenly unsure of where she’d been going with that. She’d been thinking of Asriel and Chara, of all the things she’d love to say and do with them, but in truth, she’d already gotten a taste of that. At the therapy sessions, the doctor had been gently nudging them into talking, moderating and diffusing situations before anyone got too wound up. She _was_ getting a second chance.

            But the truth was it wasn’t her children that only came to mind. Instead, it was a lonesome statute of her and her children, left behind in a dusty castle. She could imagine a pathetic, mourning king, weeping at the statute’s feet.

            What would he do, if given a second chance? As king, he taken his second chance to reverse some of the damage he’d done—reversed the edict, freed the dissenters, prioritized healing the old wounds. As a father, he was trying to be there for his children, even submitting himself, like her, to the uncomfortable knowing gaze of a therapist to help them mend their bonds with their children.

            And as her once oldest companion, the one she’d relied on to help get through the dark times of their imprisonment, he…

            Well. It didn’t matter what he would or would not do as a friend of hers. She could never forgive a man with the blood of her children on her hands.

            She glanced at her own hands.

            Blood.

            Looking at them, uncomfortable memories swirled in her mind—impossible memories, from a time (or rather, _times_ ) that did not exist. Could not exist. Of her children trying to insist on leaving the Ruins, of escaping. Of her catching them leaving. Of her terrible anger and fear, the need to stop them at any cost. Of blood on her hands as their broken bodies lay burnt before her.

            (But she would never remember another Frisk, young, naïve, and helpless. Begging her to understand, to let them go. _They had to go_. She _had_ to stop them. But she could never remember that child in particular, because that child did not exist. Anymore.)

            She blinked, coming back to herself. Quietly, she balled her fingers into fists and then tucked them carefully against her front, hiding them from sight as she leaned forward and tried to smile.

            Sans, despite his shaken mood, looked at her, considering. “You look like you’ve seen death.”

            Did he have to word it that way? No matter. “Lost in thought, that’s all. You, on the other hand, look a little better. Are you going to get up now, or are you going to roll around on the rug for awhile longer?”

            He shrugged, his gaze still awfully knowing. “I dunno. It did taste pretty good.”

            _How annoying,_ she thought, fondly. Perhaps she should take him down a peg. “I’m sure _Frisk_ appreciates your preference for carpet munching as well.”

            The strangled noise he made was worth it; she chuckled as he squirmed about. Finally, he cleared his throat. “So, whatcha do with the kid?”

            She blinked at him. “Kid?”

            “Chara. Asriel. They came with me.” He gave her a look as she jumped up. “You didn’t forget them _outside,_ did you?”

            She barely managed a scowl as she hurried back to the front door. “You might have said something before now!”

            “And ruin the surprise? Hey, I’m going to take a nap now. Have fun.”

            She swung the door open and found Chara tending to the flowers they’d planted a month ago in her yard. They paused from their examination to stand up and walk over as she hurried to them. “Oh, my dear child, I’m so sorry! I had no idea you were here as well. My goodness, are you alright? You’re not too hot, are you?”

            Chara shrugged. “I am fine. I only wanted to look at the flowers first. Then I planned to come inside.” They nodded Asriel’s head down to the flowers. “They seem to be holding up to the heat well.”

            She smiled as she bit back a sigh. “They have indeed. You did good work with them.” She straightened and gestured back to the house. “Please, come in. I tried out a recipe for ice cream cake last night and I haven’t had anyone around to taste test it for me yet. If you would be so kind?”

            They perked up. “That sounds tasty.” They followed her back to the house; when she let them in, they paused to look up at her. “You are probably wondering why we’re here. Correct?”

            “I’m just glad to have you,” she said, perhaps a bit too honestly. “But, I am, I admit, a bit curious why you came with Sans. I was under the impression that you and Asriel didn’t get along with him.”

            Chara nodded, standing still next to her. “Asriel wanted to come.”

            Toriel’s eyes widened. “I—did he?”

            “He felt guilty. He feels it is his fault that he started the fight with Papyrus and Sans yesterday. So, he offered to come here today. To give Sans an excuse to come.” They shrugged. “I cannot understand why he needed one.”

            In spite of the tight feeling in her chest, she managed a chuckle as she shepherded them towards the kitchen. “People, humans and monsters, are sometimes too complicated for their own good. Now, how about a slice of cake, hmm?”

            Chara was happy to dig into a slice after she handed it over to them. As she sat there, smiling serenely at their genuine delight—it was a _chocolate_ ice cream cake, after all—she mused how fortunate she really was with her own second chance. Glancing at her hands, however, reminded her of her strange not-memories.

            Second chances. Did she or Asgore deserve them? And if one did, why not the other? She grimaced and tried to focus on asking Chara how they liked the cake, but still the thoughts lingered.

 

 

 

            Winter meant that the monsters should have been focusing on happier things like Gyftmas or New Years. But that winter, Toriel and the others were caught up in political snarl that left them all too anxious to get into any festive mood. The problem was entirely the fault of a single human nation stirring up trouble by trying to paint monsters as dangerous animals and they should be treated—and more worryingly, _hunted_ —as such.

            It was funny, but nearly two years earlier, Toriel might have had more empathy for that human nation—her own children had been murdered by monsters, time and time again. She’d seen and heard their cruelty firsthand, hadn’t she? Vicious, murderous—if monsters had all been destroyed, then it was only what they deserved.

            And yet, here she was, two years later, trying not to reach up and pull out fistfuls of her fur as she bit back screams. No—no, that _wasn’t_ what monsters were, not anymore. They were _trying_ , damn it. Even she could see that. She’d been wrong about monsters, but how best to explain that to others? Humans had no idea how far monsters had come to let go of old grudges, to give up violence. And heaven only knew how much trauma they’d all let go to move forward.

            Funny. She’d never felt this close to her own species in more a century until this point.

            An informal meeting in her own school had bordered on a last ditch effort. They had to do something soon, had to come up with a plan before other nations started moving forward with legislation of their own. But how to best _do_ that? They tossed idea after idea for nearly an hour before they finally settled on one.

            They were just going to have to prey on humans’ natural weakness to cute baby—or, rather, baby creatures, not that Toriel wanted to go so far as to actually say that—by staging it so Frisk could be holding a cute baby monster while giving a speech to the UN.

            Toriel had almost laughed the idea off at first. How much more basic and manipulative could you get? It made sense that it was Asgore who suggested it.

            And yet, it was what they had. Undyne and Alphys even agreed to allow them to use their own child—and they were an adorable little fish monster. The baby would charm most humans, admittedly. So, with no other ideas, they agreed that it would have to do for now.

            It was a little funny how fast everyone seemed to relax as soon as they’d agreed to the idea. Frisk was teasing the Royal Scientist not to tell Mettaton about her baby’s soon-to-be debut at the international level or they’d probably would find him stealing the baby to play dress up for costumes they could wear for the meeting. The Captain of the Guard grumbled about something—maybe she didn’t like the robot? Toriel wasn’t sure. Sans was already out like a light, squeezed into a too small student desk while his brother was going on about something.

            And Asriel stood with Frisk, laughing when they sheepishly admitted to still needing to go Gyftmas shopping for some last minute gift. Looking at him, grinning at the others, Toriel’s chest ached. He’d been growing again—he was up to Frisk’s shoulders now, easily noticeable now that he and the ambassador were standing so close. He was a long way off from growing his horns, but Toriel could see a subtle shadow of markings starting to appear on his cheeks—the start of a beard? Or maybe he’d take after the men in her side of the family and gain facial marks instead.

            More than that, though, this meant something new. He was growing up.

            “I never thought I’d get to see it,” Asgore rumbled next to her, startling her.

            A part of her still hissed and recoiled, willing her to jump away and smack him with a fireball. She wondered if that instinct would ever really disappear. Perhaps he’d just caused too much damage.

            But no. She was better than that—she could be civil, if only for Asriel and Chara’s sake. And, if she were truthfully honest, after two years of working together and time spent together in therapy sessions, she was used enough to his presence not to spit acidic comments at him each time they met. So, she only gave him a sidelong look, but when she did, she saw only a familiar looking expression of joy and sorrow that she’d felt on her own face before.

            Pathetic. Understandable.

            Grimacing, she turned back to their children rather than trying to dwell on those thoughts. But, looking at them, the thoughts seemed inescapable. They were growing up, and while she was still partially there in their lives, she’d been pushed to the periphery—through her own faults and failings, no different than Asgore.

            How ridiculous. The man she hated for years was now one of the few people that could relate to her. Fate was playing a sick joke on her.

            She wanted to huff in annoyance, but she tried to hold it together until she could at least huff about it in privacy. Then, however, a noise distracted her. At her side, an old, familiar sound slipped into her ears and made her freeze. For a moment, she wasn’t millennia old—she was young, barely forty, and meeting the person she would one day marry. She was fifty and a priest murmured a sermon while her groom clung to her hand like a man drowning. She was older now, but still so young, and a midwife handed her a squalling baby while at her side and a man was trying desperately not to blubber and was failing miserably.

            She was all those things then and now, he was beside her again, doing it again.

            Asgore was sniffling.

            Closing her eyes, she tried to bite back a sigh, but below that, there something she hasn’t felt in quite a while. Something amused and warm and genuine, all aimed at Asgore.

            Shaking her head, she reached into pocket and then offered the handkerchief she retrieved to her former husband, former nightmare made flesh. “You and Asriel,” she murmured, words escaping her before she could stop them. They were mortifyingly warm. “You’re both such crybabies.”

            For a moment, Asgore swayed, mute. Then he opened his mouth and all those bitter feelings come right back. “Tori…”

            She grimaced. “Don’t ruin the moment, Dremurr. Just take the handkerchief.”

            After a long moment, he took the handkerchief. Together, they watched the others and enjoyed the sight of joy on the face of their children.

 

 

 

            The next year, on the third anniversary of the Barrier coming down, Toriel once again left the group after they finished seeing off the crowds of monsters. Heading deeper into the halls of the castle, she found the hidden stair, down into the garden. Just as she thought, the statue of herself and her children were still standing as they’d ever had been. It’d even been cleaned recently; she could still see some stains were wet leaves had lain against the base too long and where a bird had lately had a nest.

            So, Asgore was still taking care of the statue, even at the expense of the garden around it, which was now thoroughly choked with weeds. He’d let his precious plants get throttled out just to preserve the statue.

            Foolishness. He’d only made the statue look lonelier than ever too.

            A thought struck her, so far from left field, she almost swayed in shock. She tried to ignore it, but the longer she looked at the statue, the more it stewed in her mind. She sighed; there was nothing for it. She would have to see it through.

            Turning, she walked out of garden, back into one of the back halls of the castle. Deftly, she moved through halls and hurried past rooms until she at last paused in one dusty corridor. This had been one of the first halls to be abandoned as they moved out of the Underground. Even before then, the rooms in this hall had been little more than storage.

            This door was locked, but the magic on the door had been her own, so when she put her hand against it, it swung open. The room was mostly empty, aside from a few pieces of furniture no one wanted to take with them. Or, more precisely, stuff that no one had really known was available, not that it mattered—it was mostly junk.

            She’d certainly thought so of the bust at least. When she’d cleaned her room of all those stacks of papers, she found other junk in her room that Asgore had shoved in there to get them out of the way too. There’d been spare dining sets, old books she’d once treasured, jewelry, and finally a bust. She’d remembered the bust from centuries before. When they had been forced underground, so much of their history had been lost, so they’d scrambled to save and re-record what they could. That had included a few busts of previous monarchs and some of her own family. They’d wanted to be able to show Asriel one day what his ancestors had looked like. So, of course, there’d been one of her and Asgore too. What happened to hers, she didn’t know, but Asgore had either smashed his own icons or someone else had, but at least one bust had survived. It was a good likeness, better than many of the other busts because at least the artist had a living subject to model.

            He’d shoved it into her room, perhaps to hide it. When she had first found it, she dragged it down here and put it in this room, putting a seal on the door so she’d never have to look at it again.

            Now, she reached down and hefted it up into her arms. It was an armful, but the weight meant little to her strong arms. She hauled it back to the garden and then carefully placed it at the foot of the statue before taking a step back.

            It didn’t look perfect, that was for sure. The bust was in a similar proportion to the statue compared to reality, if you excluded the fact that it was only Asgore’s head, neck, and shoulders.

            Still, it was better than nothing. The statue looked a little closer to complete now. After all, even if it didn’t reflect reality now, he’d obviously meant it to represent a time long ago, when they’d been a close family. Without him, the image was just too incomplete.

            She didn’t have much of a chance to admire it when someone quietly cleared their throat behind her. If she didn’t have such a tight control over herself, she might have leapt out of her skin or whirled around, fireballs blazing. Instead, she sucked in a deep breath and turned around stiffly.

            It was Asriel—not Chara, who’d been in control for most of the day, but her own baby boy. His brown eyes gave him away.

            Her breath rattled in her chest. “Asriel?” she managed, trying to keep a tremble out of her voice. She didn’t know if she succeeded.

            He looked just as unnerved as he swallowed harshly. “Um. I, just—we wanted to know if you wanted to have some of the cake now.”

            She blinked, remembering the cake she’d made the day beforehand just for this evening. “I… yes, I would… like that.”

            He nodded, but then he paused, so she waited until he finally nodded to the statue. “Um, has that bust always been there?”

            So, he’d known about the statue. Asriel had a lot of very unusually accurate and specific knowledge of areas and people of the Underground, so, really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Still, he’d left her in a sticky spot. She hadn’t really wanted to let anyone know she’d left the bust with the statue. She wasn’t going to lie to him, however. But first, maybe an evasion would work. “No, it’s a… new addition.”

            She half expected him to question her further. It’d only be fair. Logical, even.

            Instead, he only looked at her for a long, quiet moment. And then, to her delighted shock, his face softened into a smile and then he nodded. “Okay.”

            Her son was smiling, smiling just at her, no trace of fear or distrust in his eyes. She could have cried. “Okay,” she repeated, not sure if she could have managed anything better.

            He didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath and took a step back. “Um, everyone’s waiting. And I want some, so…”

            This, at least, she could work with. “Let’s go.”

            Falling in besides her, though he kept a wide distance, he looked up to her and she prayed that it was hope she saw in his eyes. “Do you think that maybe we should ask dad for some tea?”

            Toriel blinked down at him for a moment before managing a chuckle, her mind drifting back to the statue and bust behind her. “Yes. We can ask him once we find him. I think he would like to join us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cleave's a funny word--it can either mean to separate or join in English. It seemed to fit this chapter.
> 
> Now, you're probably all wondering where I've been for awhile and I think I owe you an explanation. In July, I decided to take the month off from writing as a vacation for my birth month. I had every intention of immediately getting started again in August, but shortly into August, my mother was hospitalized--she got an infection that did some severe damage to several organs. She's been sick and weak since then and I've been helping her as much as I can since they released her home. As you can guess, it's been incredibly stressful for awhile, so my ambition to work struggled too, especially once my sleep schedule changed to suit her needs.
> 
> Hopefully, I can get back on schedule soon, but who knows what the future brings. I still have a few more chapters to go, but I'd like to get this story done soon. I want to give myself a deadline for the next chapter to be up long before Halloween, but we'll see. Thanks for sticking with me through all this.


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